


Choking on Flames

by blakesparkles



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anti is Emotionally Constipated, Anti's an artist, Anxiety, Beauty and the Beast AU, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blow Jobs, Brotherhood, Burns, Christmas, Cookies, Cupcakes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Ginger Anti is back my dudes... my Abél, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Overprotective, Painting, Panic Attacks, Peaches - Freeform, Pining, Protectiveness, Pyrophobia, Rimming, Scars, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, Vulnerability, baby au, guys they will fall in love so hard i swear to god, im searching so much about babies pls i beg, is abél a sugar daddy in this? mayhaps, not between them, overcoming, taking care of a baby is Difficult and Stressful, they've been through some stuff and it'd be nice to heal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 110,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakesparkles/pseuds/blakesparkles
Summary: The boy gasps when the man comes into the light, finally seeing him. Jack’s back hits the painting and the ginger-haired man wraps a gloved hand around his neck, shaking the Irishman out of anger while shouting at him. The brown-haired man doesn’t listen to anything, eyes too focused on what he sees.orA story about grief, acceptance and love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's me again, back with another janti story!! I've been very quiet these last few weeks just writing a good chunk of this down already and I'm so excited to share this new universe! I'm definitely putting a lot of thoughts on this one and I'm falling in love with their love all over again haha. Enjoy!!

Everything around Jack’s life seems to be falling apart, all at once, and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

 

He’s at a hospital, sitting on a rather cold chair, in a cold room. There’s a low beeping sound in the air and he stares at the white floor with tired eyes. He holds back a long sigh and that awful, generic scent from the hospital burns his nostrils every time he breathes too deep. The brown-haired man blinks softly and he looks at the bed next to him, in the middle of the white room. It’s so quiet and Jack sees his sister there, eyes closed and resting. Her dark, damp hair is a lovely contrast in this place but the man purses his lips at her shallow breathing and dark circles under her eyes. A different sound calls his attention and he looks down at his arms, a faint smile on his face upon seeing his sister’s baby babbling and lightly hitting his chest.

 

Jack adjusts her better in his arms, resting her face against his chest, and he pats her. The corners of his eyes burn with unshed tears, tightening his hold around Róisín. He just lost his job at a retail place and his sister is so sick, trapped in this hospital for a while now. The brown-haired man has been taking care of Róisín for her and he’s worried that he’ll lose his small apartment, not having enough money to pay for rent and hospital bills. Everything is a mess and Megan’s so frail. She always had a low immune system, always getting sick when they were kids. Jack glares at himself, angry that a bastard of a boyfriend got her pregnant and left without a care. She doesn’t deserve this and it pains him to see her in that bed. These two girls are all he has. They’re his family.

 

“Seánie boy…” His sister’s voice reaches his ears and he lets out a low gasp, staring at her hazy eyes. She sends him a weak smile. “You’re crying again…”

 

“No, I’m not,” he sobs and jiggles his leg gently to rock the baby. “You should be sleeping.”

 

He wipes a few tears that escaped and she hums, looking at Róisín. She waves weakly and the baby fidgets in his arms, wanting her mother. Jack sighs, knowing they can’t do that right now, and he kisses her forehead to calm her down. Megan stares at them for a while, trying to breathe, and she looks  _ so _ exhausted. Everything was fine in the first two months, both taking care of Róisín and learning. His sister slowly felt worse and worse, passing out and feeling nauseous. With her weak immune system, Megan caught pneumonia and everything turned into chaos. Sepsis, the doctor said. An illness that developed after her pregnancy, an infection in her blood. She has a fever most of the time, sweating and shaking, and it’s hard for her to breathe. Her kidneys are close to failing, after giving birth, and Jack can’t do anything but stay by her side.

 

She murmurs that she wants the brown-haired man to take care of Róisín for her and those words doesn’t sink well for him. Her own eyes are blurry with tears but he doesn’t mention that.

 

“What are you talking about?” he whispers.

 

“You know what I mean, silly…”

 

Jack’s face scrunches up in emotion and he swallows back tears. He doesn’t dare thinking about that, not right now. He caresses Róisín’s faint brown hair and, when there’s a knock on the open door, he looks up to see his friend Robin. The brown-haired man sniffs and wipes his tears, murmuring to his sister that he’ll be right back. Jack stands up, holding the baby, and she tugs on the collar of his dark green shirt. He meets the light-haired man in the hallway and they exchange a small smile. Robin pats Róisín, saying hello, and their voices are low. His friend says he looks so tired, that he should go back home and rest. Jack shakes his head. He can’t leave.  _ They _ are his home, anyway. When the Swedish man asks about his sister, he grimaces.

 

“We should’ve come sooner…” he whispers. “But she was so stubborn…”

 

“What did the doctor say? Is she going to be okay, though?” Robin asks.

 

“I… I don’t know. I don’t want to answer that.”

 

The light-haired man pats his shoulder and he sighs, accepting his friend’s affection. They both look at Róisín for a moment, noticing her sleeping against his chest, and Jack’s heart aches. She’s so little, only two months old, and she has no idea of what’s going on.

 

“Listen,” Robin murmurs. “I know this isn’t exactly the right time, that this is delicate, but… I thought you deserved to know that there’s someone looking for a caretaker. It pays very well and it hasn’t been made public yet. It could help you, especially with all these bills.”

 

“Are you kidding me? I have two girls to take care of already. I’m not a nanny, Robin,” Jack huffs a tired smile. “Thank you, but I don’t think I’m up for that...”

 

“One of the guys that works there studied with me in college, I know him. He said they would provide rooms and all of that for the person. You would be welcome there,” he continues and then nods. “But, of course, I’m just letting you know. There is no rush. Take your time. I just wanted to stop by to say hello and see the girls.”

 

Jack thanks him, saying he really appreciates that. He’ll save that thought for later. Right now, all he cares about is being next to his sister and making sure her baby is okay. Robin is kind and the Irishman doesn’t know what he would do without the man. He’s a great friend and he’s very grateful that he stopped by. Jack really is exhausted, though. He’s been barely sleeping, wanting to stay with the girls, and the hospital is practically his new house. The Irishman sighs, coming back to the room, and he places Róisín carefully in a small crib that the hospital provided for them. Jack sits down on that awful chair and his back is so sore. Everything is, really. He tells himself that he can do this, though. They’ve been through so much already, they can also fight this. He nods to himself and tries to get as comfortable as he can, hoping to have a better tomorrow.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

The brown-haired man stares at the monitor in the morning, that damn beeping sound turning into a single long note, and he doesn’t blink for a long time. Jack sees nurses and a doctor walking in a rush, everyone talking all at once and trying to do something. Róisín wakes up in a cry and he just slowly stands up, going towards her and picking her up. He leaves the room, rocking her gently, and he drags his feet in the hallway until he’s leaning against a wall with all his weight. Jack feels numb and he can’t hear anything properly anymore, as if he’s underwater. His heart is not racing, too in shock to have any reaction, and he just stares at the white floor. The brown-haired man looks at the baby girl, realizing it’s going to be just the two of them for now on, and it hurts. It’s a heavy weight in his soul and it is sad to say that he’s used to grief, losing their family little by little.

 

He blinks again and he’s at a funeral, wearing a black suit. Robin is next to him, holding Róisín for him, and he looks at her sister’s grave. It is very simple and yet beautiful. Jack takes a deep breath and puts his hands in his pockets. He still hasn’t cried and he doesn’t really know how many days have passed. Everything just feels like one very long day. Robin adjusts the baby’s black dress and her small ribbon around her head. Jack’s throat seems to be always closed, aching, and it’s hard to swallow. His eyes are red, but no tears are coming. Too tired. He looks at the blue sky, feeling the breeze hitting his face, and he turns to them. It’s quiet for a long time and Robin holds his arm, leaning closer. The Irishman sighs and licks his dry lips before speaking, voice hoarse.

 

“Is that offer still up?”

  
  


* * *

 

 

A week passes and Jack’s waiting for a car to pick them up by his crappy apartment. He had to sign so many papers regarding Róisín, since he’ll be her guardian for now on, and he’s been packing all their stuff. She’s on her baby car seat, looking at him with sleepy blue eyes, more quiet after he fed her some formula. He’s wearing a black jacket over a striped shirt and he’s biting on his nails. The Irishman looks at the window when hearing a sound and his lips part when seeing a goddamn limousine parking in front of his building. He turns around, picking up Róisín by the handle, and he goes down to meet a chauffeur a bit unsure. The man has dark brown hair, tall and stronger, and he asks if it’s Seán that he’s speaking to. The Irishman nods and murmurs that there are stuff back in the apartment that he wants to bring it.

 

The brunet says that’s not a problem and he helps to put everything in the fancy black car. Jack thanks him, a bit worried that he’s bothering, but the man doesn’t seem to mind. When they get inside the vehicle, the chauffeur opens the window between the backseat and the front so they can see each other. Róisín is holding his pinky finger and he smiles down at her.

 

“I’m Tyler, by the way,” the man says and Jack hums. “May I ask you something, sir?”

 

“Oh, please, call me Jack,” the boy says. “Yeah, go ahead.”

 

“Do you know anything about Mr. Ó Dubháin?” 

 

Jack knits his eyebrows. After talking to Robin about this job, he did search about the man and he was surprised to know that he’s a famous painter in their state. His name is Abél Ó Dubháin and the Irishman might’ve heard his name once or twice on the news, but it was always in the background of his life. He doesn’t really know much, besides that. Tyler hums and tells him to be patient with the man, because he’s stubborn. Jack says something about having plenty of experience with that, especially after having a baby to take care of as well. The brunet chuckles, hoping that the boy feels welcome and that he can settle down. The Irishman smiles weakly, still feeling tired but glad that the man is being kind. Jack looks out the window, seeing the world in a blur.

 

It takes quite some time for them to arrive and the Irishman frowns when there’s less and less buildings around them. They drive towards a quiet and yet beautiful place, that Jack didn’t even know it existed. It’s a road surrounded by trees on each side and something about that already soothes him, not minding the silence of this place. He does feel a thin line of anxiety in his stomach when he sees a huge house on the end of it, sun setting. They reach a tall gate and Jack purses his lips, trying to take a look from the window and seeing a poorly maintained garden. There’s a fountain in the middle of everything, vines around it that mask it’s beauty, and the Irishman hopes the inside of the house looks better than this. He can’t afford being in a place so torn with Róisín. Tyler parks in front of the mansion and politely opens the door to Jack, offering to help with the packages.

 

The brown-haired man holds the baby’s car seat in his hand and he puts a bag strap over his shoulder, looking at the double dark door. Tyler opens it, making a gesture for him to walk inside, and he says goodbye with a smile. Jack nods and, when he looks around the place, he grimaces. It’s dark, no windows open, but he can see a large lobby and stairs that lead to a second floor. There’s a chandelier above him, turned off, and some sculptures in corners that scream luxury. He thinks everything has a hint of gold, that it would shine beautifully if there was proper light. The lobby floor is of marble but he thinks there’s dark wooden details on the stairs and doors as well. It’s so quiet and he shuffles on his feet, unsure.

 

“Hello?” he says, voice echoing in the dark.

 

“Ah!” a new voice calls his attention to the right and he sees a boy, with brown hair, coming towards him with a smile. “You must be Seán! Oh, it’s so nice to see someone here!”

 

“Jack,” the man corrects. “This is Róisín.” The boy looks down at the sleeping baby, eyes turning into half-moons. “And, uh, are you Abél?”

 

“Oh, no! My name is Ethan!” he answers and then hums, saying something about Jack looking a bit like Mr. Ó Dubháin. He takes the Irishman’s hand, shooking it eagerly. “Come, come! I need you to sign some papers and then I can show you the house.”

 

The brown-haired man follows the boy, seeing him push a swinging door to enter a kitchen. Jack’s eyes widen at how much space this house seems to have. This room alone is bigger than his old bedroom, with a kitchen island in the middle, and there are dry herbs hanging under wooden shelves. It makes him wonder how old this mansion is, really. Ethan tells him to sit on a stool while he goes to pick up some paper and pen, and Jack makes sure his baby is alright. She’s still sleeping, scrunching up her face every now and then, and he takes one of her blankies to clean up her drool. The boy returns, turning on the lights, and he sits across from him. The Irishman blinks several times, adjusting his eyes at the brightness, but he’s thankful that he can  _ see. _

 

Jack reads everything with care and there’s nothing too out of the ordinary, with certain times that he should bring the person food and check if he needs anything. But he does shake his head at weird requests, the further he reads. Ethan is babbling in the background, saying he’s happy that they stocked everything in the kitchen again, so there’s plenty of food. Jack interrupts him, eyes still on the paper.

 

“Always keep the curtains shut? No ‘exploring’? Never leave a light on after leaving? Don’t make loud noises? What am I? A child?”

 

“Mr. Ó Dubháin is very strict but you’ll get used to it. He values his quiet. Just… Seriously, don’t enter a room without knocking or something. The last person was fired because… Well, she couldn’t handle it anymore.”

 

“Okay…” Jack says, just going with it. He needs the money and a place to stay, so he signs the paper with a sigh. “Would it be alright if you showed me where I will stay? I need to take Róisín stuff out of the boxes before she wakes up…”

 

Ethan nods and they go back to the main lobby, walking up the stairs. Jack notices that it leads to two paths, left and right. When they reach the stairs landing, he sees a long blanket hanging on a wall. He frowns, thinking that there’s something hidden behind it, but the brunet tells him not to touch it. Jack purses his lips and follows him to the left, into a hallway with many doors. The floor creaks and the Irishman doesn’t fail to notice frames covered up. It gives him goosebumps and he places Róisín’s car seat closer to him. Ethan opens a door that leads to a bedroom for him and he holds back the urge to whistle. There’s a canopy bed in the middle of it, with a large closet to the left and a door to the right that he assumes to be the bathroom. Ethan says they can rest for the end of the day and start working tomorrow.

 

Jack goes inside and the boy helps him to pick up his stuff once he places Róisín in bed. When he asks if Ethan will be around, the kid just shakes his head and says something about some of them visiting once a week. Mr. Ó Dubháin doesn’t want them around as much as before, wanting to be alone, but he still pays everyone. Sometimes they come there to clean the house and make sure he’s, well, still alive. Jack knits his eyebrows, not believing that someone that young has so many problems like that. He thanks Ethan for helping him and the boy says goodbye, wishing him good luck. The Irishman blinks and he’s left alone, in this huge mansion, knowing practically nothing about it. He looks at Róisín and then winces, remembering he forgot to ask if they had any crib. Jack had to sell everything they had to pay for the rest of their apartment and some hospital bills.

 

It hurt his heart giving away something like that, but there was nothing left. He sighs, thinking she’ll have to sleep with him for tonight. This is not good but, hopefully, he will be able to buy her a better one once he’s paid. Jack nods and busies himself with unpacking what he brought, settling up a baby monitor and placing a lot of diapers in a drawer. He folds her small clothes and organizes everything, making sure that her toys are in a safe place. Róisín will wake up soon and probably be hungry, so he takes her baby formula and leaves the room briefly. Jack does pause on the stairs landing, staring back at that dark red blanket hanging on the wall. He narrows his eyes and ignores it, finding his way into the kitchen. The Irishman opens cupboards, placing the formulas there, and he sees a lot of ingredients inside.

 

The fridge is full and Jack feels a bit overwhelmed to have so many options. The brown-haired man finds it odd that everything is so quiet and, when he walks back to the main lobby, he purses his lips. He feels like calling for Mr. Ó Dubháin and part of him is upset that the guy didn’t even have the trouble to welcome the boy in his own home. That’s rather rude, isn’t it? Jack rubs his tired eyes and groans under his breath, going back to Róisín. She wakes up, already wanting to cry, and he picks her up. He shushes her, rocking her gently, and he notices two long curtains on each side of the bed. Jack pushes one open, just a bit, and his lips part at the floor-to-ceiling window. The faint light from the setting sun enters the room and it’s so nice. He sees a backyard, but he grimaces at the state. The grass is too tall, vines and flowers all tangled together, and he thinks about taking care of that soon.

 

For now, he lies down in bed with the baby girl against his chest. His heart is heavy, exhausted just like his body. Jack makes a mental list of everything that he needs to do and, hopefully, he will meet Mr. Ó Dubháin soon. The Irishman stays inside the bedroom, wondering if he made the right choice. There’s nothing for him to do, nowhere to go. Not after losing his sister. The pain is still very much there, in his heart, and it’s bittersweet looking at Róisín’s eyes. Jack whispers to her that he wants them to have a new start, a good life. She just makes baby noises and slowly blinks at him. He smiles and kisses her forehead, hugging her.

 

Please.

 

Let this be a new chapter of their lives.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter, check! It's more like an introduction to set the vibe and I know it's pretty Sad right now, but don't worry! There's more to come! And some chapters will be shorter like that than usual, so I hope it's still satisfying to read! See you guys in 3 days! :)
> 
> Oh, also! Róisín is pronounced "Rosheen". It's an Irish name and the "i" is mute! The sín is longer, like Seán and it's a strong R, closed sound?? Just in case someone is curious ;u;
> 
>  
> 
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/marvelsoo/playlist/1VWnQGrCYv7xC6DxJkUJxh?si=5fXsvwiGT8OYLHn0JyUaeQ)  
> [Storyboard](https://pinterest.com/sparklepines/choking-on-flames/)  
> [My tumblr](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/)  
> [If you like what I do, feel free to show some support!](https://ko-fi.com/sparklepines)  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, Jack takes care of Róisín first just like usual.

 

He changes her diaper, feeds her, pats her back gently and waits for her to burp. The brown-haired man takes a shower in a rather fancy bathroom, with a large bathtub. He trims his beard and puts on a white, long-sleeved shirt, along with jeans. Róisín giggles when he pretends to eat her tummy and he places her on her basket, that has a cover to protect her. They go down to enter the kitchen, the baby always on his sight, and he frowns upon seeing a note left on the kitchen island. The words are messy and uneven, almost as if the person was shaking or wrote it in a hurry. Jack traces his fingers over the yellow page, knitting his eyebrows.

 

**_“Mr. Mcloughlin, I’ll be in my workshop all day. Do not attempt to enter, I don’t want to be interrupted. Leave breakfast in my quarters. Follow up the stairs and go right. It’s on the end of the hallway. A.”_ **

 

“Not even a good morning or thanks?” Jack murmurs to himself. “Shit, you really are an artist, huh...”

 

The Irishman leaves the baby on the counter, resting in her basket while trying to shake one of her toys. He makes breakfast for the man, but also for himself. The smell of coffee fills the air and that makes him feel better, taking a sip while making some pancakes. Jack likes cooking and he likes seeing fresh fruits in this place, so he adds strawberries and blueberries. The Irishman can only hope the guy likes whatever he does, because he didn’t receive any list about his preferences. Everything about this place and this job is very vague, but the part of him that needs the money speaks louder. Jack smiles to himself, thinking that Megan would’ve kicked doors open to find the man just because he didn’t say a simple hello.

 

He eats a pancake and he has an idea of answering the man back quietly, taking that same note and writing on the back. Jack adds his hello properly, saying he hopes that the artist likes his breakfast and have a good day. That he will be in his own room, if he needs anything. The Irishman doesn’t forget to write below _Also, ‘quarters’? Really?_ He puts everything on a silver tray, a mug of coffee and a pile of pancakes on a plate. There’s also sugar and some milk on the side in case he wants to add. Jack walks upstairs and turns to the right, the quietness of this place making his footsteps too present. He feels goosebumps again and he awkwardly knocks on the last door, just to be safe. Nothing happens, so he adjusts the tray in one arm to open it. God, why does everything has to be so goddamn dark? How can someone live like this?

 

To his left, he can make out a canopy bed, similar to his, but bigger. There are curtains across from him, definitely from those floor-to-ceiling windows that he wishes to open so badly. He sighs and places the tray on top of a round table, in the middle of the room. It smells there, like it’s been closed off for too long, and he grimaces. Jack walks away and returns to Róisín, taking them both out of the house and finding that garden. The fresh air and light is a relief and he stretches, popping his bones and groaning. He finds a shed and he gathers some supplies to work on that awful grass and vines. He wants to do something to distract himself, anything to keep him away from his thoughts. Jack cuts the tall grass little by little, remembering times he had to do this for his father, and he watches Róisín from the porch. She’s a good girl, protected from the sun, and the Irishman works on pruning some old flowers, leaving room to new ones.

 

He’s sitting on the ground, hands messing with plants, and he winces when a rose’s thorn hurts him. Jack curses under his breath and sucks his thumb, thinking he’s stupid for not wearing gloves. The hairs on the back of his neck raises and he turns around, looking back at the mansion. The Irishman sees a faint silhouette on the second floor, through a window, but it’s gone as soon as it came. The curtain falls back to its place, not leaving enough time for Jack to make out anything properly. He purses his lips, not sure how he feels knowing that this Mr. Ó Dubháin is spying on him from afar like that.

 

He pauses to feed Róisín in his arms and later, he goes back upstairs to knock on Mr. Ó Dubháin’s door. There’s still no answer, so he walks inside and finds the tray he left there. Jack lets out an _Oh_ sound when seeing still a lot of pancakes and the coffee is cold. The guy barely ate anything and he wonders if it wasn’t good. The Irishman feels a mix of disappointment and worry, sighing to himself. There’s a different note on the tray, though, and he reads when placing the tray back on the kitchen. He snorts.

 

**_“There’s nothing wrong with the way I speak.”_ **

 

_“Sorry I hurt your feelings.”_

 

It feels odd but amusing to answer the man like that. Still, Jack wishes to talk to him face-to-face. Maybe he’ll warm up to the Irishman as the days pass, who knows. He does distract himself by going to the living room, from across the lobby. It has a beautiful fireplace, with fancy chairs that look like they were made centuries ago. Róisín plays quietly with her toys and grabs on her blankie on the soft rug, and Jack cleans the house a little bit. He finds a nice rhythm after a while, making lunch and watching the baby at the same time. It keeps him busy and that’s what he needs. He keeps pushing that grief away, not wanting to let it consume him like before. The Irishman leaves that note on the tray when leaving the guy some food and it’s only in the afternoon that he hears something in this quiet house, a sign that he’s not alone.

 

Jack hears a piano, a soft melody coming from somewhere unknown, and he knits his eyebrows at that. He walks on creaking floors, doing his best to be silent, and he brushes his fingers against walls that have long scratches on it. He follows the sound and that long, crooked mark, curiosity kissing his heart. In a large hallway, he stops in front of a door to listen, and his lips part at that beautiful song. Jack bites his bottom lip, knowing the man is there, and he touches the doorknob. His hands have small cuts from taking care of the garden and, when he makes a motion to open it, the music stops and so does he. The Irishman gasps under his breath and steps back, opening his mouth to speak but then closing it. His heart picks up and he just leaves, feeling stupid for wanting to pry on the man as well. God, what is he doing? He can’t afford upsetting the man and lose this job.

 

There’s no more music in the air for the rest of the day.

  


* * *

 

 

As the days pass, Jack finds himself with a good routine and Robin calls him to check on him. The Irishman sighs with his friend and they share their thoughts, the Swedish man always showing support and telling him to keep going. Some nights are difficult and he has nightmares. Róisín will wake up in a cry too and he swears the kid must be dreaming of bad things as well. Robin offered to buy her a crib but it didn’t feel right, the man already helped him more than he should. Jack will figure this out. He also swears that he hears weird noises every now and then, grunts and doors being slammed. The brown-haired man never sees Mr. Ó Dubháin and he caught himself running towards any sound, just in hope to see a glimpse of that man. It feels like he’s living with a ghost.

 

A ghost that writes, actually.

 

Jack’s been talking to him through notes spread all over the house and he found out that the guy likes tea, not coffee. He also found a library yesterday, with high shelves and a fireplace. He likes it there and he will open the curtains just a little when he’s in a room, not forgetting to close them on his way out. The Irishman takes care of the garden every morning, after making tea and breakfast for Mr. Ó Dubháin, and Róisín stays by his side. The mansion looks much better once he cleaned it little by little, dust long gone. It was horrible and he still doesn’t understand why the guy doesn’t let his employees work there. It also doesn’t help that he finds empty bottles every now and then. It makes him uneasy.

 

Róisín is not doing so well right now, though. She’s been throwing a fuss and not wanting Jack’s hold, whining and in the verge of tears. He grimaces when she doesn’t want to eat and he checked if she needs to change her diaper, but that’s not the issue. Jack’s tired and lost, himself feeling like crying when listening to her whimpers and seeing her pout. It’s getting to him, that panic under his skin, and it’s so uncomfortable. That fear of not being good at this, of being a bad guardian, failing to take care of his sister’s child. He gasps when there’s a loud noise in the air and he looks up at the mansion, realizing it came from upstairs. There are more thuds and crashing sounds that upsets Róisín and his heart races, worried. He tries shushing her, walking out of the living room and going upstairs in a hurry. Jack calls for Mr. Ó Dubháin but it’s in vain.

 

It sounds like someone is getting murderer behind the man’s door and the Irishman hesitates for a moment, thinking about this.

 

“Ah, fuck this…” Jack murmurs to himself and then speaks louder, in hope to be heard. “Mr. Ó Dubháin, I’m coming in!”

 

He opens the door and his eyes widen, seeing a gash on a curtain that allows him to see a fucking mess before him. That wooden table is broken into pieces, along with knick knacks all shattered on the floor. Jack hears an angry grunt, almost like a growl, and he looks at the canopy bed, seeing everything ruined. The sheets are torn, pillows cut wide open, and there’s a silhouette in a dark corner. The Irishman’s breathing picks up and he stays still, hand tightening around the doorknob. He swallows, aware that he’s trespassing, but he can’t just ignore all of this. Jack looks down at the floor, seeing blood drops that lead to the man, still hidden. His face scrunches up.

 

“A-Are you okay?” Jack whispers, hating that he’s stuttering. “Are y-you hurt?”

 

_“Leave."_

 

“But-”

 

_“LEAVE!”_

 

The Irishman jumps out of skin when the man shouts, his voice hoarse and angry. Raw. The brown-haired man stumbles backwards, stuttering an apology, and he runs away without closing the door again. His lips quiver, his own fear getting the best of him, and he can hear Róisín crying. It’s the loudest she has ever cried, echoing in this mansion, and Jack whimpers when going back to her in the living room. She’s in her basket, toys threw aside, and her face is so red. The Irishman tries shushing her, his heart beating against his ribcage at everything that happened today, but she doesn’t stop. When he tries picking her up, she cries even louder, and a sob leaves his mouth. Jack sits down on the floor and covers his face, joining her in crying, and everything feels so overwhelming. This wouldn’t be happening if Megan was there. He lets out a strained sound and the corners of his eyes burn.

 

There are footsteps and Jack sniffs, wiping tears away from his face. The Irishman gasps when looking up, only to see a tall man before him. He has his back turned to the boy, so Jack can’t see his face at all, but he has ginger hair that goes down to his shoulders. It’s rather greasy and messy, and he’s wearing black clothes. A hoodie, with long sleeves. The brown-haired man looks down at his hands to see them covered with bandages, a bit smudged with blood. The ginger-haired man leans down to pick up Róisín and Jack feels anxious, beginning to get up.

 

“W-What are you d-doing?” he says. “Mr. Ó Dubháin?”

 

“Stay,” the man grunts. “Don’t move.”

 

The Irishman purses his lips and the guy holds the baby close, patting and rocking her gently. This guy just freaked out in his own bedroom and yelled at the boy, but now he’s being all tender. Jack knits his eyebrows when Róisín looks at him, face smeared by tears, and she slowly stops. Her blue eyes are glued to the man, mouth ajar, and the mansion is finally quiet. The ginger-haired man caresses her faint hair and the boy doesn’t dare to move. He just sniffs and rubs his eyes, calming down his heart. The baby tugs on the man’s collar, babbling, and Jack mumbles the first thing that comes to his mind, too tired.

 

“I think she misses Megan too…”

 

The man still keeps his back turned to the Irishman and just hums. His voice is low, barely there, but not angry anymore. “I didn’t know there was a baby.”

 

He puts Róisín back down and her cheeks are red, but she’s not crying anymore. Jack stands up and watches the man walk away, head down. He opens his mouth to speak, nervous, and he thanks the ginger-haired man. Mr. Ó Dubháin pauses for a moment and tilts his head a bit to the right, barely enough to catch a glimpse of his green eye. He just hums and walks upstairs in slow steps, hand brushing against the rail, and Jack swallows. The Irishman looks back at his baby and he sighs, grabbing a tissue to clean her face. She’s already with half-lidded eyes, exhausted from crying and screaming. Poor little thing. He’s horrible at this. How come that man make her stop that fast?

 

Jack takes them to their bedroom so he can wash his face and put himself together. Róisín falls asleep in their bed and he runs a hand over his hair. The Irishman hears a soft melody again, replacing the chaos from before, and he takes that as a hint to clean up that room. Jack gathers some materials and a large trash can to throw some wooden pieces there, and there’s no one in that messy room anymore. Sometimes he hears the music notes too sharp, as if the man’s hands are faltering. The brown-haired man thinks of him while picking up broken pieces from the ground, seeing ginger hair. Did he do this? Did he just destroy his own room? Jesus. Jack notices a bunch of marks on the walls, like the ones in the hallways, and he wonders why the man does that.

 

He’s folding the torn sheets, wanting to change them, and he keeps replaying that scene of the guy holding Róisín in his mind. The floor creaks, bringing him back to reality, and he looks up at the door to see the man standing there. Jack’s breath gets caught in his throat, both across the room, and the artist’s hoodie is up now, covering most of his face. His greasy long hair also helps with that, only the right side visible to the boy. His beard is full, as if he hasn’t been trimming it for weeks, and he seems as tired as them. Jack looks away out of respect, even though he doesn’t want to do that. He’s not stupid. He can tell that the guy has something going on with his appearance.

 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t notice you had stopped playing… I’ll leave in a second.”

 

“No,” the ginger-haired man grunts.

 

Jack holds back a snort, thinking this guy is not much of a talker nor is he delicate. He clears his throat and, assuming he’s allowed to stay, he continues to fold the sheets. The man with the green eyes watches him from a corner and Jack fights the urge to fix his hair. He just opens a closet and takes out new sheets, making the bed. The Irishman tries to pull a conversation, apologizing again for intruding but also thanking him. He says it’s been difficult and that he’s content to see that he’s not living with a ghost. The artist stays quiet, knitting his eyebrows. It looks like he sucked on a lemon, scowling at the floor and glancing at the kid every now and then. He turns around when Jack walks too close, always keeping his right side towards him, and the Irishman doesn’t make any harsh movements. It feels like he’s dealing with a wounded animal.

 

“All set, Mr. Ó Dubháin,” he whispers. “Just… Try not thrashing the place again. Please, be careful.”

 

“Anti,” the man glares at the floor. “Call me Anti.”

 

Jack’s lips part at that and he holds back a small smile, nodding. “Then, call me Jack.”

 

The man’s green eyes flicker back at him and he hums, pursing his lips. The Irishman looks down at his mouth, trying not to frown, but he notices it’s chapped and it looks like there are cuts that continue on his left side. Man, what is up with this guy? Jack feels curious, more than before, and he wishes to stay longer but he can’t. He warns the ginger-haired man that he will pass by his side, and Anti gives him space. Jack keeps his head down and walks into the hallway, fighting back the urge to look over his shoulder.

 

He feels a gaze behind him, nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention! This whole au happened because I was rewatching Jack play the game Layers of Fear with a friend! That house is a big inspiration for this story and I definitely recommend the new netflix show "The Haunting of Hill House" because, not only it is amazing by itself, but the mansion looks pretty much like I see it here! So I thought it would be good references!! So yeah, who knew such a horror game made this romance fic happen lmao.


	3. Chapter 3

He notices Anti lurking in the background more often after that day.

 

The man will watch him take care of the garden from the second floor and Jack will wave at him. He’s sure that he caught the ginger-haired man almost walking into the kitchen one day, only to step back and see him cook for a second. Anti still barely eats and the Irishman kindly wrote on a note for him to take a shower, because the situation was just getting _bad._ The ginger-haired man doesn’t show up for two days after that and Jack got worried that they were back to square one. But, right now, the brown-haired man is reading a book on the couch and he just huffs at the man walking into the living room, head down. He still just lets the boy see his profile, and Jack doesn’t press the matter, also avoiding out of respect. Anti approaches the baby lying in her basket and she turns her head at him, shaking her arms.

 

Jack can’t help but smile, content that she feels alright near him, and the tall man murmurs if he can touch her. The Irishman nods, closing the book, and he watches Anti sit down on the floor with his back towards him. He is slow and gentle, letting Róisín grab his finger and make incoherent sounds. He’s wearing black gloves this time and his hands seem to be trembling every so slightly, but Jack doesn’t say anything about it. She giggles when he cups her cheeks and she stomps her feet on the soft ground. Jack’s smile fades, knowing she’s wearing a blue onesie his sister bought once. Anti’s voice brings him back to reality, that hoarse and low tone.

 

“What’s her name?”

 

“Róisín,” he says. “It means _little rose._ ”

 

A hum. “Is she yours?”

 

“I… No, but…” Jack knits his eyebrows and sighs. “Megan was her mother… My sister. She passed away a few weeks ago… It’s just us now.”

 

“Oh,” Anti whispers. He gives Róisín her small rattle and they watch her be amazed by the sounds. “I see.”

 

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” the Irishman snorts. “Do you have any family?”

 

The ginger-haired man suddenly stands up and Jack feels a sudden rush of cold, already apologizing if he said something wrong. The brown-haired man wants nothing more than to get along with this man and it gets so boring in this mansion sometimes. He’s dying to have a proper conversation with someone. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. The sight of Anti leaving with a grunt tells him that he will, though. Jack sighs and shakes his head, not understanding. Róisín does make a sound close to a cry but he distracts her. She will want to eat and nap soon, and he can take care of the garden a little more after that. It’s only afternoon, anyway.

 

Whenever he wants to go to the garden, he always walks under the stairs that lead to a hallway. On the right, there’s the library, and in front of him it’s the path to go outside with a beautiful glass door. He stops in the middle of it and looks to his left, pursing his lips. There’s a damaged wooden door, with black spots and marks all over. Small holes that are not enough for him to peek inside. He thinks that’s where Anti paints, where he shouldn’t go at all. Jack knows he’s back in his bedroom, seeing the man walking upstairs himself, so he fidgets with his fingers out of curiosity. The brown-haired man checks the end of the hallway just to be sure and he slowly touches the rusty doorknob. It’s cold and it creaks when he opens it, just like everything in this old house.

 

Jack lets out a shaky breath, heart picking up, and he goes down a lance of stairs. It’s so goddamn dark and he narrows his eyes, trying to see what’s in front of him. The smell is different, heavily of smoke and burnt wood. The Irishman trips on things and he touches a curtain, immediately opening it to let the light inside. He coughs at the dust and he blinks several times, eyes adjusting and seeing particles in the air. Jack waves a hand in front of his face and he looks around, gasping at the mess. There are broken canvas, chairs, and shelves everywhere. Paint on wooden floor and walls, fabrics torn and empty bottles of whiskey. Jack sees some paintings leaning against walls and he swallows, turning around to see one in the middle. It’s covered by a blanket but it feels important, hanging on the end of a wall.

 

He clenches his jaw and approaches it, hand hovering in the air. The brown-haired man touches the fabric and he pulls it down, revealing a burned painting with two people. The frame is golden, with lovely details, and he sees a kid with brown hair and green eyes. The part that is burned and scratched is where the second boy is, wrapping his arms around the other from above. Their heads seem to be resting against each other and Jack would say it’s a beautiful painting, if it wasn’t for all the gashes and burned holes. The Irishman’s lips part at the sight of curly ginger hair and freckles. He gently brushes his fingers on it, in hope to connect all the pieces and see it better. A loud slam makes him jump out of his skin and his hand falls, turning around with wide eyes. Anti’s there, flaring his nostrils, and Jack’s heart goes up to his throat.

 

“You shouldn’t be here!” the man shouts. “What are you doing?!”

 

“I-I…” Jack stutters, chest hurting from his beating heart. “I just w-wanted to understand you.”

 

Anti runs towards him and the Irishman steps back, out of instinct. The boy gasps when the man comes into the light, finally seeing him. Jack’s back hits the painting and the ginger-haired man wraps a gloved hand around his neck, shaking the Irishman out of anger while shouting at him. The brown-haired man doesn’t listen to anything, eyes too focused on what he sees. The left side of his face is… raw. Burned, with a left eye slightly droopy and not as green as the other. There are flaws on his ginger hair and beard, showing marred pink skin, and there are cuts that kiss his lips. Freckles all over his face, but fading on the left. Anti tightens his grip and shoves Jack against the painting harder, calling his attention. The brown-haired man is shaking, panting with wide eyes.

 

“Are you satisfied now?!” the ginger-haired man growls. “Do you like what you see? Are you done? Do you feel disgusted now?!”

 

“Stop! Are you insane?” Jack groans and also shoves him back, taking his hands away from him. “I’m doing this for Róisín and you know it! I want her safe, I can’t live in a place where this person is a walking mystery! I don’t know if you’re dangerous!”

 

“Well, I am! Maybe you should just _leave!_ ”

 

“No,” the Irishman knits his eyebrows and lowers his voice, trying to calm the man down. “I need this. Róisín needs this.”

 

The freckled man grimaces, closing his hands into fits, and his nostrils flare again. He’s about to say something when the doorbell rings in the house and they exchange a look. Jack touches his neck and winces, swearing under his breath. Anti notices that and he takes a step back, making himself smaller. The Irishman is so tired and stressed, he can’t believe this. He walks away with weak legs and trembling hands, ignoring the man calling him. Jack goes into the main lobby and finds Ethan opening the front door, followed by someone else. The brunet waves and says he rang just to let them know he’s there, though he has the key. The Irishman nods, still trying to shake that feeling from before. When he blinks, he sees ginger hair and marred skin.

 

Ethan introduces him to Tucker, a tall guy with long blond hair, and Jack clears his throat, trying not to think about Anti downstairs. They shake hands and the man says he’s the one that usually cooks for Mr. Ó Dubháin. Jack murmurs he wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands in the kitchen sometimes and Tuckers snorts, saying he does come there on the weekends. The Irishman nods, liking that he’ll have some help, and they all go to the kitchen. Ethan came to check if there’s any need for restock and they sit at the kitchen island, making a list. The brown-haired man is zoning out, to be honest, and Ethan calls him out. He sighs and rubs his temple, leaning forward against the counter and resting a cheek on a hand.

 

“What happened to Anti?”

 

“Wh-” Ethan says, eyebrows going up. “Did you just… Did he tell you to call him that?”

 

Jack nods, saying they’ve been talking mostly through notes but that he has seen the man. He doesn’t mention what just happen, though. Tucker makes a funny sound and looks at Ethan, both exchange a curious look.

 

“Are you telling me he has been writing you notes every day and that he let you see him?” Tucker asks and the Irishman confirms again.

 

“I can’t believe that you guys have been physically in the same room,” the brunet says, surprised. “It’s been only two weeks.”

 

When Jack asks again what happened, Ethan presses his lips together and hums. The Irishman sighs and says he does know about the man’s face. Tucker’s eyebrow raises and there’s a moment of silence. Jack listens to them explaining that there was a fire quite in the beginning of the year and Anti couldn’t get out. They don’t give him much details and he respects that, knowing it’s the freckled man that should be explaining anyway. He wants answers, though. Jack sees that burned workshop below and remembers that awful smell. He grimaces, imagining the man trapped down there with no way to get out. Ethan sighs and says that everything after that has been different. Anti barely shows up, wanting to hide how he looks. Everyone feels uneasy near him, not knowing when he’s going to lash out.

 

He wonders if the ginger-haired man got any treatment, especially since it hasn’t been that long since the fire. If there were any news about the incident either, the Irishman never really paid attention to it. Jack feels bad now, for prying and demanding answers from Anti when he’s hurt. They do focus back on their task and the Irishman keeps an eye on the baby monitor on the counter, just in case. Róisín is still fast asleep, lying on her stomach, and they have a good talk that calms him down. Tucker is a nice dude and Jack hopes to see more of him. Robin will like him too. It only hits him that he should be making dinner after one hour and it saddens him to watch them go. Tucker promises he will bring tupperwares with his best food and the Irishman smiles at that.

 

Jack makes pasta, wanting to go for something simple and yet warm. The Irishman sighs, thinking of apologizing to the man later and just talking to him, without these quick little moments that leave him confused. It must be hard having to deal with such a tragedy alone. Jack knows how that feels. He puts everything on a tray and he goes to the garden for a second, wanting to take a rose and put it in a small vase to go along with everything. That’s his side trying to apologize without words, a peace offering. Jack nods, satisfied with himself, and he walks up the stairs to go to the man’s bedroom. When the brown-haired man knocks, he hears nothing, so he opens the door and goes inside.

 

“Anti?” he whispers and places the tray on a small dresser, since the man broke his table. He looks around, squinting his eyes. There’s a low groan and Jack gasps, seeing a silhouette on the floor, next to the canopy bed. “Anti!”

 

He runs to turn on the lights, sun long gone by this point, and he hears another grunt. The man’s tangled on his bed covers, as if he rolled over and fell, and there are empty bottles of alcohol on the floor with him. Jack goes to him, leaning down and shaking his shoulders. Anti’s ginger hair is covering his face, all messy, and he’s lying flat on his stomach. There’s just a grumble again and he stinks of alcohol and sweat. Jack grimaces.

 

“Abél?” he calls for the man gently, hoping his real name will ground him. “Are you alright? I’m… I’m going to touch you, okay?”

 

Jack pushes strands of hair away from the man’s face, revealing his disfigured side, and the boy carefully turns him to be on his back. Anti’s eyes are closed, knitting his eyebrows and then relaxing with a sigh. The Irishman’s heart beats faster, knowing he’s drunk and barely moving. Jesus fucking christ. This man only worries him. He’s a mess. Jack swears under his breath and tries lifting him up. Now, the Irishman is strong and he had his fair share of exercise during his life. But this man is just fucking heavy unconscious and the boy has been taking care of a baby for a while now, so he’s pretty rusty. Jack grunts while holding Anti’s waist, pulling them up, and he throws the man’s arm over his shoulder. The ginger-haired man grumbles again and tries moving, but the boy shushes him.

 

The Irishman is clumsy but he manages to open the bathroom door. making the freckled man sit down in front of the toilet. Jack murmurs he’s just like a child and he doesn’t hesitate when shoving two fingers into Anti’s mouth, making him gag. The ginger-haired man chokes and leans forward, stomach folding while he vomits alcohol and bile. Jack’s face scrunches up at the sight and smell, but stays behind him to hold him up. Anti groans and the brown-haired man coaxes him to keep going, saying he will feel better. He grabs a towel to damp on the sink, cleaning the freckled man’s face and mouth gently like that. Anti flinches and scowls, eyes hazy and distant. He’s still very angry even drunk, though. Jack snorts.

 

The Irishman pushes his ginger hair back and the guy swears under his breath, coughing. Jack asks if he’s done and he nods, trembling. The brown-haired man tells everything he’s going to do, not wanting to scare the man again, and he slowly makes Anti stand up after flushing the toilet. He’s practically bending over, leaning towards a side, and Jack tells him to rinse his mouth in the sink. He thinks he hears a complaint and he bites his lips to hold back a small smile, thinking Anti is stubborn. They walk out of the bathroom and Jack helps him getting in bed, pulling the covers back up and taking off the man’s shoes. The freckled man sighs, closing his eyes, and just now the boy pays close attention to him. He sits by the man’s side, looking down at him, and his lips part.

 

Jack doesn’t know why, but his first thought is that Anti is beautiful. His left eyebrow and that side of his beard has little flaws and cuts due to the burned skin. It looks like he used to wear earrings, gauges, because the holes of his ears are bigger than usual. Not healed. There’s a long gash that starts on the left side of his temple, crossing his cheek, that goes down to the corner of his lips. There’s also a scar on his neck, a white line in the middle of redden skin. Jack eyes fall down to his black shirt, wondering if there’s more underneath. Anti’s not wearing any gloves and his hands are also burned, a mix of red and white. Deep scars on trembling fingers. When the Irishman looks back at him, the man is staring back through half-lidded eyes. They’re so green and full of life, but there’s a hint of loneliness in them. Jack knows how that is.

 

“I feel like I’m taking care of two babies, you know,” the boy whispers, smiling to show he’s kidding. “You’re so difficult.” Anti’s hand slowly moves up to his face and he tries turning to the other side, groaning. Jack touches his arm, shaking his head.  “Don’t… It’s okay.”

 

Anti knits his eyebrows, still just looking at him, and the Irishman gets up for a second to grab a cup of water on that tray. He tells the man to drink it and he lets him know about the food. The ginger-haired man murmurs something about being able to take care of himself and Jack raises an eyebrow at that. He says Anti is paying him to be his caretaker, so it would be nice to actually do his work for once. The freckled man huffs and Jack runs a hand through his hair, exhausted. He gets rid of all the bottles, tidying up the place, and Anti just watches him through hazy eyes. The brown-haired man turns off the lights but leaves the curtains slightly open, wanting the moonlight to illuminate the place softly. Jack gets closer to him again, saying he will go for now but that the man should rest. Anti blinks slowly, still drunk.

 

The Irishman walks away, closing the door and going to his bedroom. He purses his lips, thinking about that man, and he takes care of Róisín. Jack hopes tomorrow will be better for all of them. Perhaps Anti will be more willing to be near them, after they both looked at each other properly. The Irishman doesn’t want the freckled man to think that he finds his appearance a problem, that it’s uncomfortable. That wouldn’t be true. Jack would focus on his work nonetheless and he wouldn’t be that type of person. Maybe that’s what Ethan was talking about before, the previous caretaker. _She couldn’t handle it,_ he said. Anything can be solved with care and attention. Jack will make this work. The man seems troubled enough, he doesn’t need someone else treating him that way.

 

Jack lies down in bed, pulling his legs up to rest Róisín there, and he bumps his forehead against hers. A sigh leaves his mouth and he kisses her cheek. When the Irishman goes to sleep, he sees ginger hair and green eyes behind his eyelids, marred skin and two kids holding each other. It leaves a fire burning in his heart, blooming with interest.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Wake up, sleeping beauty!”

 

Jack walks into Anti’s bedroom after knocking, already going for the windows to open them. He’s wearing a white shirt, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark pants. There’s a loud groan coming from under the covers and the Irishman turns to see ginger hair peeking out from it. The freckled man scowls when raising his head, face groggy from sleep, and Jack bites his lips not to smile. The Irishman places his hands on his hips instead, making a motion with his chin as if calling for the man, and Anti rubs his eyes. The sun is up, there are birds chirping. It’s a new day and Jack will do his best to make it a good one.

 

“I regret hiring you…” Anti murmurs, sitting up and pushing the covers. “What are you? My mother?”

 

“Oh! He speaks! I am one, when it’s needed,” Jack jokes with him, wanting to start with a good mood. He doesn’t want to push the guy too much, though. He walks closer, touching the canopy bed and looking at him. “Would you like to have breakfast here as usual or would you like to join us in the kitchen?”

 

The Irishman thinks that leaving an option for Anti to stay could work, not really demanding but showing he wants company. He taps his fingers on the wooden bed, feeling anxious, and he bites his bottom lip. Anti knits his eyebrows and looks down, clenching his own hands a couple of times. When it takes too long, Jack murmurs he will wait downstairs and, if he doesn’t show up by nine in the morning, he will come back with his food. The ginger-haired man nods once and the boy sighs, telling him to at least have a shower and take some aspirin to help with the hangover. Jack brings Róisín with him, distracting himself when feeding her. She’s wearing a striped-onesie, red and white, and she squirms in his arms.

 

There’s water in a kettle and his coffee is brewing. The Irishman’s eyes fall when time slowly passes and he stares at that empty spot across from him. He tells himself he shouldn’t worry, that he’s trying. Róisín closes her eyes and he smiles down at her, watching her little feet move while she drinks from her bottle. Jack sees something out of the corner of his eye and, when he looks up, he softly gasps. Anti’s by the doorway, hands in his pockets, wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Black, with a turtleneck. His hair is clean, damp, but beard is still full and he has tired eyes. Still, Jack doesn’t fight the smile that kisses his face and the man clears his throat.

 

“Hi,” the boy says. “Do you wanna have breakfast here?”

 

Anti nods and he looks at Róisín, who has finished her bottle. She hiccups and Jack adjusts her in his arms, placing her against his chest. The ginger-haired man doesn’t enter the kitchen, not really. He’s still in the doorway, all hunched down, and his eyes flicker to the stove. The kettle whistles and he offers to hold Róisín while the Irishman takes care of that. Jack goes to him and whispers for Anti to be gentle or he will kill the man. There’s a snort and the brown-haired man tries not to show his surprise too much, turning around and making some tea. Anti pats her and makes her burp, and it’s only when Jack turns off the stove that the freckled man walks into the kitchen. The boy places some plates for them, with toast and eggs, and he leaves some jam on the side in case the man wants it. Anti places the baby in her basket, next to them, and covers her with a blanket.

 

“You seem to be really good with kids,” Jack says, sitting across from him, and giving his tea.

 

“She’s always in this thing,” the ginger-haired man murmurs instead, pointing at the basket. “Why?”

 

“Oh, yeah… I… We don’t have a crib anymore... I had to sell all our stuff before going here. I donated Megan’s clothes and all that too...”

 

Anti’s all hunched down, still trying to hide the left side of his face with his hair, and he’s mumbling. Jack eats calmly but the man practically digs his hands into the food and shoves it in his mouth. The boy catches a glimpse of his split tongue and his eyes widen a bit at that. The freckled man bites a huge piece of toast and drinks from his tea, smudging his gloves with eggs and jam. The Irishman hums but says nothing, not wanting to upset the guy. He seems really hungry and it doesn’t surprise the boy. Anti almost never eats what he brings to him. Jack tries pulling conversation but the man mostly grunts and keeps his eyes down. His ginger hair is beginning to curl, though, and it’s nice to see how pretty it is when clean.

 

“I was thinking of baking a pie this week,” Jack says. “Do you have a favorite?”

 

Anti swallows his food and it takes a moment for him to answer, but the boy waits. “Peaches.”

 

“Peaches? You like peaches?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The Irishman smiles, eyes turning into half-moons, and the man finally looks at him. Jack makes a face, snorting, and he says that there are bread crumbs all over his beard. Anti quickly brushes the back of his hand against his mouth and the brown-haired man shakes his head. Well, that’s charming. Since Jack didn’t discuss anything with Ethan about it, when they made that list, he thinks he could go out himself. Perhaps that man, Tyler, could take him to a market. He doesn’t want to bring Róisín to a busy place yet, though. Not by himself. He purses his lips. Would he really be willing to leave her alone with Anti for a few hours? The freckled man doesn’t seem uncomfortable near her, does he? Jack hums and says he’ll go out tomorrow then.

 

“I’ll be at the garden today and just washing some clothes. Where will you be?” he asks and the man clenches his jaw, murmuring something about his workshop. Jack frowns, unsure. “I don’t think… I don’t think it’s safe for you to be there, since it’s all burned down…”

 

“This is my house.”

 

“It is but I’m taking care of it,” the boy replies. “Just… be careful. You’re more than welcome to be with us, too. You could be with Róisín.”

 

Anti looks back at her and Jack  _ knows _ he wants it, but he just slowly gets up to leave. He does murmur something about the food being good and the Irishman considers that as a mini victory. He purses his lips when they’re alone and he cleans the dishes. Jack tells the baby that they need to try harder and that she needs to be more cute. She just sucks on her pacifier, blue eyes looking around, and he sighs. The garden is as beautiful as ever but soon autumn will show. The brown-haired man does change Róisín’s clothes at some point, after bathing her with care, and she’s wearing a cute dark blue dress and a small ribbon on her head. Jack continues his day like that, trying to ignore a hint of disappointment in his heart for being alone.

 

It was really nice to have the man there, though. Both eating breakfast, face-to-face. This is good. Jack will make this work. They are both hurting, so he hopes that they can heal together and have a good interaction. The boy thinks of all that while taking care of the house, a small smile on his face, and it’s only late in the afternoon that he sees Anti again. Jack’s holding a pile of fresh sheets in his arms and, when he turns into a hallway, the man scares the crap out of him. The Irishman bumps into him and he gasps. Anti holds his shoulders to stop him and they exchange a look. Up this close, he realizes how tall the man actually is, and Jack swallows while stepping back. The freckled man’s hands fall to his side.

 

“Jesus, don’t scare me like that! You need to stop acting like a ghost.”

 

“I have something to show you,” he whispers.

 

Jack frowns but follows him when the man turns around, both walking in a hallway. The Irishman has been slowly letting small gaps between the curtains, here and there, and Anti hasn’t mentioned it. He takes that as a second mini victory. The ginger-haired man opens a door next to his bedroom, one that Jack hasn’t been in as well, and it’s dark. He turns on the lights and the boy blinks, seeing everything similar to Anti’s bedroom at first. However, the more he looks around, the more he notices the little details. There’s more personality screaming there, with movie posters hanging on the walls and knick knacks everywhere. What calls his attention the most, though, is a wooden crib next to the canopy bed. They walk up to it and the freckled man seems to relax a bit, frown going away upon touching it.

 

“It belonged to my brother,” Anti murmurs, not taking his eyes away from a small little pillow. “I thought Róisín would need it. I can place it in your bedroom.”

 

“I…” Jack replies, tightening his hold on the sheets in his arms. His heart clenches, not expecting something like that from the man. Not so soon and not as sweet as this. “Anti, you don’t have to… I was going to buy o-”

 

“Consider this as an apology for… my behavior,” the ginger-haired man continues, glancing at his neck for a moment.

 

Jack huffs with a smile and he nods, saying thank you. He flushes a bit, feeling embarrassed that the man has to do this, but it means a lot knowing that Anti is trying to make this work too. The Irishman doesn’t question about his brother, though. Not yet. He doesn’t want to corner the man like that. Jack just keeps smiling and he places the sheets in bed, so they can both carry the crib. It’s not super heavy, but it’s best to work together, and Anti’s hands don’t seem steady enough anyway. The man grunts, complaining, and the boy urges him to keep going. Jack does trip once and he lightly hits a wall at some point, making him laugh out of more embarrassment. His hiccup laugh fills the hallway and Anti’s lips part at that, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Jack apologizes between giggles and they walk into his bedroom.

 

They place it near his bed and the Irishman picks up Róisín from her basket, showing her the crib all happy. She just makes small squeaks, but giggles when Jack kisses her cheek a lot. Anti watches it all and the brown-haired man notices the corners of his lips turning into a soft smile. It’s barely there, but that long cut down to his lips makes his face look more twisted at the slightly move. Still, Jack’s own grin widen and he thanks the man once again. He hums and turns around to leave. The Irishman feels like stopping him, but he wouldn’t know what to say, so the boy just watches his back.

  
  


* * *

 

 

In the next day, Jack calls Tyler to pick him up. It’s a bit weird having someone personally carrying him around and he even thought about just taking a cab, but Anti insisted that he talked to the man. The freckled man also left a note to the Irishman, along with his credit card, telling his password on paper and that he could get whatever he needed. Jack just wants to buy peaches and that is just hilarious, but the boy appreciates the gesture. He was unsure about leaving Róisin with Anti, but listening the ginger-haired man mention about his brother and seeing his expression soften, put him at ease. She will be fine with him. Jack does threaten Anti twice before leaving, glaring at him from across the lobby, and the man just holds her in his arms with care.

 

Part of the Irishman can’t help but still feel a pang of worry, loving that baby to death, so he tells himself that he won’t take too long. Tyler opens the door to the limousine again and he asks how Jack’s doing, saying he’s content to still see the boy there. The brown-haired man hums, sort of updating him but not getting into much details. Everything feels very private, somehow, but Tyler is more than happy to know that Mr. Ó Dubháin is doing well. Jack watches the trees from the window and, when reaching the city, he feels weird to be in a crowded place again. He got so used to that old mansion, he forgot how it was to live in the modern world.

 

Jack thanks Tyler and the man says he’ll grab something to eat while he waits, and the boy walks into a busy street. He goes into a market and focuses on getting all the ingredients for the pie. The Irishman fills the cart with peaches and he doesn’t forget to buy more diapers and formula. He gets Róisín a new pacifier and he knows he shouldn’t be buying anything else, but she’s been so calm lately. She deserves it. Jack would love to spoil her, but maybe in another time. The brown-haired man uses the credit card and he sighs in relief when it works, not wanting to fuck this up. He has a bag full of peaches, it’s honestly ridiculous. Tyler sends him a look when he goes back to the car and Jack just says it’ll be important.

 

When the Irishman goes back to the mansion, he announces his presence and he can see Anti in the living room. The man has the television on, in a low volume, and Róisín is still in his arms, trying to grab his ginger locks. Jack calls for him and the freckled man stands up, walking into the lobby to be in front of him. The boy cups Róisín’s cheeks and kisses her forehead, thanking Anti for watching her. The man nods and he seems calmer, frown not as present as before. He definitely has a soft spot for the baby and that makes Jack hold back a smile. He clears his throat and clenches his hands.

 

“Would you like to help me bake the pie?” he asks.

 

The man with the green eyes looks down at the peaches and he purses his lips, nodding. Jack snorts and tells him that he will need to tie up his hair, because the boy doesn’t want any hair in his food. Anti scowls at that but leaves to place Róisín back in her basket, and the Irishman organizes everything in the kitchen while the man goes to find something for his hair. He washes his hands and, when the freckled man walks into the room, Jack makes an  _ Oh _ sound and his heart skips a beat. Anti’s hair is tied up in a messy bun, face not hidden by his curls anymore, and the boy can really look him in the eyes. The man knits his eyebrows, thought, asking what’s wrong.

 

The Irishman shakes his head and tells himself to keep his shit together. He tells Anti to wash his hands and cut some peaches while he makes the pie crust, and the man looks down at his gloved fingers. Jack tries not to look, adding flour into a bowl, and he hears the water running. Anti does make a low grunt and he catches a glimpse of his redden hands. They stand next to each other and the Irishman narrows his eyes when the man steals a peach, biting it. He has his good side next to Jack and they work in silence for a while. There’s no rush and the brown-haired man does his best to enjoy this moment. He didn’t think Anti would be doing this with him, not like this. It’s good to have company. Jack missed that.

 

“Stop eating the peaches!” he calls the man out. “We need them!”

 

“‘S good.”

 

Anti’s voice is all muffled, mouth full with the fruit, and Jack rolls his eyes. He mixes everything together and his hands get all dirty. When the ginger-haired man starts actually cutting pieces of the fruit, the Irishman relaxes more. A smile kisses Jack’s face, feeling bittersweet, and he murmurs that he used to cook a lot with his sister. They’ve grown closer in the last few months together and even more after Róisín came into the picture. Anti hums, pursing his lips as always, and the boy is tempted to ask about his brother. Is he even alive? Did Anti lose someone like that too or are they just distant? Jack holds back a sigh and just tells the man to add cinnamon and a bit of lemon, guiding him with the filling. He seems unsure, not quite knowing what to do nor touching anything, and the Irishman snorts.

 

They both dig their hands in the filling and Jack says he has to feel it, to do it with confidence. Their hands are a weird contrast to see and he looks down at them. Jack’s has cuts from roses, taking care of the garden every day, and Anti’s are shaky and marred. He wonders if the man still paints. The kitchen island is all messy and, as time passes, the freckled man gets more tense for some reason. He’s clenching his jaw again and his eyes are wandering everywhere. There’s flour on his cheek but Jack doesn’t bring that up.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks.

 

“I don’t want to be here when you turn on the oven,” Anti whispers.

 

Jack makes an  _ Oh _ sound and then it fucking hits him. Of course. The man’s face is all burned and he was probably locked down in that room with so much fire. He doesn’t like it. The Irishman says it’s alright and that he helped the boy a lot already. Anti washes his hands and puts his gloves back on, excusing himself while untying his hair. Jack huffs to himself and focuses back on finishing the pie, running the back of his hand against his forehead. Okay. More progress. It’s slow, but it is a progress. That was probably the longest they’ve stayed in the same room and, even though he wishes that the man talked more, it was pleasant. Anti seemed to be enjoying it. It’s a good distraction. For both of them, really.

 

It’s only after another hour that Jack leaves the kitchen, pie in the oven. Everything is really quiet and he walks into the living room, in hope to see how Róisín is doing. The brown-haired man just stops on his tracks, though, and his heart aches at the sight. He thought Anti had left to be in his bedroom or something, but no. He’s still there. The ginger-haired man is lying down on the couch, asleep and with his mouth ajar, and the baby is sleeping against his chest. Jack’s expression soften and he quietly walks closer, sitting down on the floor to look at them. Róisín is in his arms, lying down on her stomach, and Anti still has that smudge of flour on his cheek. The Irishman bites his lips, trying not to grin too much, and something stirs in his heart. How come this be the man that yelled at him? That hides in the shadows? He seems to be always so anxious, so uncomfortable. It’s nice to see him like that now.

 

Jack runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, and he doesn’t have the strength to wake them up. Not yet. He just uses his moment to forget about dark thoughts and bad memories, just leaning back and sighing. He pulls his legs up and hugs them, resting his chin against his knees, and the house smells of peaches.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew a small doodle on paper of Abél from this story! Since I'm doing inktober, I thought it would be cool to try it! So if anyone wants to have a small idea of how he looks, [here you go!](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/post/179487402164) ;u;  
> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone!! :)

Anti wakes up an hour later and Jack comes back to him after he had placed the pie over the kitchen counter to cool off. The man blinks at the boy walking in, knitting his eyebrows. Róisín is still fast asleep and there’s a damp spot on the man’s shirt with her drool. The brown-haired man picks up a blankie, waiting a bit to wipe that off, and he crouches down in front of them. The freckled man sighs and rubs his eyes, murmuring something about the smell of pie. Jack snorts and cleans Róisín’s mouth when Anti lowers his arms. The man cups the baby’s head, caressing her, and the Irishman feels that pang in his heart again.

 

“You really like her, don’t you?” he whispers. “I’m glad... I was worried you wouldn’t like a baby in the house.”

 

“She reminds me of Andreas.”

 

Jack frowns and asks who that is, but Anti shuts his eyes and shakes his head. The man’s probably still sleepy, so that name slipped for sure. The Irishman bites his bottom lip and he curses in his mind, wishing to know more but not daring to push. Andreas. That must be his brother, right? Jack murmurs about flour on Anti’s left cheek instead and the man finally brushes his fingers on it, smudging it off. He does that thing again of slightly moving to the other side, keeping his profile to the boy, and Jack purses his lips.

 

“I told you that you don’t have to do that… You look fine.”

 

“Fine?” Anti glares.  _ “ _ Is this  _ fine?” _

 

“I just want you to trust me. That’s all.”

 

They exchange a look and the man takes a deep breath, baby moving up and down with his movement. Jack whispers that he doesn’t want Anti to hide, to runaway. He’s glad that the man likes being with Róisín, so he could do it for her. The ginger-haired man looks intently at him when he says that, his green eyes locked on blue. The Irishman wonders if he can see well with that left one. He wonders a lot of things, really. This guy is practically a walking mystery, he can’t help but feel curious. Jack smiles and changes the subject, saying he’ll cut the pie in a bit so he’ll make them some coffee and tea. The sun is setting, so he asks if Anti would be willing to eat by the garden. Maybe some fresh air could do them well.

 

The ginger-haired man doesn’t say anything so Jack just gets up and prepares everything for them, as usual. He hears Anti in the house and that is quite something already. The Irishman sets two plates on a silver tray, forks and mugs with their hot drinks. He cuts a beautiful piece of pie for them and he’s really proud of how it looks. Jack pushes the kitchen door open with his back, walking with the tray in hands, and he sees Anti next to the stairs. He’s carrying Róisín in her basket, a small blanket over his shoulder, and it looks like he’s waiting for the boy. The Irishman tightens his hold and goes to him, walking side by side until they are in the garden. There’s a glass round table on the porch, so they sit there with Róisín between them.

 

It’s calm there, the autumn breeze softly hitting their faces, and the sunset still shows the garden beautifully. Anti eats the pie with his hands, ignoring the fork in front of him, and Jack makes a face at that sight. It’s the second time he does that, his full beard getting dirty with crumbs, but the freckled man mumbles between bites that it tastes delicious. Jack frowns a bit when he winces, though, dropping the rest of the pie and taking a sip of his tea. The brown-haired man stares at his own piece, but doesn’t eat right away.

 

“Are you in pain?” he asks and looks at Anti’s profile.

 

“It’s…” the man murmurs, glaring at himself, and it always seems like his words get stuck in his throat. “I have second and third degree burns. Most of it is healed by now but sometimes… Sometimes it’s difficult.”

 

Jack’s blue eyes fall down to his hands, thinking that’s why they’re always shaking. His nerve endings are damaged. When he asks if Anti still paints, the ginger-haired man shakes his head. It’s hard and he doesn’t like how it comes out anymore, so he’s having an art block. It hurts holding a brush in bad days. Jack is not sure if he means that literally or not. Maybe it’s both. It sounds frustrating. He hums and finally cuts a piece of the peach pie, bringing it to his lips. The sweet taste touches his tongue and, for some silly fucking reason, it brings him back to his childhood. The days he baked with his sister and their laughs. The Irishman’s eyes fill with tears and he swallows hard, a small sob leaving his lips. Anti immediately tenses up and stares at him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers, face scrunching up in emotion, and he sniffs. “I d-don’t know what happened, I thought of Megan and I just… I didn’t even cry when she- Fuck!”

 

The brown-haired man covers his face with his hands and he sobs more, suddenly weeping with an aching heart. It  _ hurts _ and there’s an invisible hole in his stomach that it doesn’t go away. It’s a raw pain that he can’t never really understand. Jack briefly sees Róisín between them and that makes it worse, finally feeling everything hitting him. Just because of a fucking pie, goddamnit. He’s so stupid. So weak. The Irishman pulls his legs up to the chair, wanting to curl into a ball, and he can’t see Anti anymore. He wants to say sorry for acting like this, out of nowhere. Everything was going well and they were chatting. He’s fucking ruining this.

 

Anti will probably fire him, to be honest. Jack’s crying in front of his boss, basically, and showing how unstable he is. The Irishman groans and takes deep, broken breaths with a sore chest. There’s silence, despite his soft whimpers, and he does his best to put his shit together. He slowly relaxes and wipes his tears, vision blurry and face red. Róisín wakes up and cries out too, so he looks to the side to see an empty chair. Jack’s heart sinks and a broken sound leaves his lips, realizing the man simply left without a word. Of course that this was sudden and weird, Jack knows that. But Anti didn’t have to do that. Disappointment kisses his mind and his shoulders fall, staring at their tray with unfinished pies.

 

He sniffs and shakes his head, knowing he’s even more stupid for counting on that man so soon. Jack’s just working for Anti after all, the man doesn’t need to console him. That’s just calling for attention. Alright. Fine. He takes another deep breath, exhaling through his mouth, and he focuses on Róisín. Jack will need to change and feed her soon anyway, so that will be a distraction. The sun has set and the cold breeze is not welcome anymore.

  
  


* * *

 

 

There’s a rose and a note right in front of his door in the next day.

 

Jack just finished taking care of the baby after waking up, bathing her and putting her in a light green onesie with floral patterns. She is playing with her toys and rattle in her crib, sucking on her pacifier, and Jack’s wearing a dark blue t-shirt with black jeans. Hair damp from the shower, face still puffy from crying all night. He purses his lips, staring at the red rose on the ground, and he leans down to take it. Anti’s handwriting is familiar by now and the boy sighs, reading his words.

 

**_“Forgive me for leaving. A.”_ **

 

He looks at the rose in his hand and he smells it, knowing the man got it from the garden. The brown-haired man turns his face at Róisín, safe and sound in her crib, and he walks into the hallway. Jack presses the flower close to his chest, going to the other side of the house in slow steps. The morning light baths the hallways gently and he knocks on Anti’s door. It takes a moment but he hears shuffling and he perks up when it opens slightly. The ginger-haired man peeks from the gap and Jack’s lips part at his shirtless state. The Irishman blushes immediately, fidgeting with the rose, and he sees more burns and scars all over his torso. Anti closes the door a bit more, hiding in the dark, and he clenches his jaw.

 

“Hey,” Jack breathes, locking his eyes on green. “I just wanted to say that it’s fine. You didn’t have to do anything and I’m sorry I broke down like that…”

 

Anti knits his eyebrows. “I should have.”

 

“Not really, I just work for you...” he murmurs. “Thank you for the rose, though.”

 

The freckled man doesn’t seem to agree with him but he nods, a bit stiff. Jack notices fresh small cuts on his cheeks and his face falls, walking forward and gently pushing the door open. Anti lets him in but steps back, both in the dark bedroom. Jack turns on the lights, a chandelier illuminating the place, and the man winces. The brown-haired man holds his breath and his eyes widen a bit at the sigh. There are cuts on his cheeks, down to his beard and collarbones. His left side is completely kissed by fire, half of his chest and waist marred and pinkish. Branded. Anti’s wearing black sweatpants, barefoot, and the burns continue down to his hips. He’s clenching his hands, breathing shallow and staring dead at the ground, and he has a snake tattoo on his right forearm.

 

Jack approaches him, hand hovering in the air, and he touches Anti’s left cheek. The freckled man gasps and turns away, telling him to leave. The boy shakes his head, swallowing.

 

“Did you do this?” he whispers and Anti grunts, scratching his beard. Jack sighs. “You’re impossible.”

 

He takes the man’s hand, holding it with care, and the ginger-haired man asks what he’s doing. Jack places the rose on a dresser and guides them into the bathroom, turning on the artificial lights and making Anti sit down on the toilet. The Irishman says he’s tired of the man’s beard and that he needs to take care of himself, opening the medicine cabinet and looking for a buzzer. He grabs a shaving cream and a razor too, wanting to clean some parts before trimming, and Anti just looks at him as if he can’t believe that this is happening. He sees an ointment in the medicine cabinet for scars, untouched. Jack gives him a hair elastic and the freckled man pulls his ginger locks back in a low ponytail. The boy lifts his chin up and stands in front of him, adding cream and sighing with a worried heart.

 

It’s quiet, just Jack shaving him and trying to avoid the small cuts there, and Anti relaxes after a while. He doesn’t stop staring through half-lidded eyes, long and light eyelashes batting against freckled skin, and the boy does his best not to feel nervous under his gaze. Once again, he’s overstepping and trying to control this man but he can’t help it. Anti seems so broken, so hurt. Jack wants to help. This is the first time they’ve made a psychical contact that is not violent, no hands around his neck, and his own fingers are shaking. The Irishman gasps under his breath when Anti wraps a hand around his wrist, bringing him back to reality. The boy blinks down at him, heart skipping a beat, and he sends a quick smile of reassurance before moving to the sink. Anti’s hand falls back to his lap and Jack gently presses a damp towel on his face, removing the rest of the shaving cream and trimming the rest.

 

“It’s Saturday, so… Ethan and Tucker will be here today,” Jack mutters, trying to fill in the silence and ignore his heart. He applies an ointment on Anti’s small cuts and the man scrunches up his nose at that. “I think they would be happy to see you.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“It will be like a day off to me. You could be with us. We could watch a movie with Róisín or just… I don’t know… Walk through the garden… You can eat more pie, if you want.”

 

“I’m not a baby,” Anti scowls. “You’re treating me like one and I don’t like it.”

 

“Then stop acting like one,” Jack says. “I’m older than you by a year, right? You should listen to me.”

 

“Are y-” the man huffs. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

 

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Why? Did I strike a nerve? Are you upset with my comment? Do you want me to take care of that boo-boo as well?”

 

The ginger-haired man makes the funniest face ever, mouth falling open and leaning back at his attitude, and the boy bursts into laughter. His eyes turn into half-moons and he apologizes between bubbly giggles, saying he didn’t mean it. Anti shakes his head and huffs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. Jack clears his throat and finishes taking care of the man’s cuts. He urges the freckled man to get dressed properly and Anti grunts, touching his now soft beard. It looks much better. The Irishman hopes he doesn’t get hurt again, though. For fuck’s sakes. The guy probably has a knife somewhere in this room. No wonder the mansion has marks all over the walls.

 

Jack leaves the bathroom, taking his rose on the way, and Anti follows him. He briefly looks at the man’s body again and the tips of his ears burn. They exchange a look but the boy just says he’ll be downstairs, turning around and walking away. He looks at the rose and he remembers Anti’s hand around his wrist, that rough skin against his. He sighs and drags a hand over his face, going back to Róisín and placing the flower in a small vase in his room. He picks the baby up, kissing her cheek, and they both go downstairs to eat. Jack prepares her formula as usual and she lazily drinks from her bottle.

 

Ethan and Tucker arrive shortly after that and they all greet each other again. It’s nice to see them and the blond-haired man brought the tupperwares that he promised. They talk a bit in the lobby, laughing and just catching up. Once again, Jack thinks Robin would like them, so he hopes that they can all meet and have a chat. Ethan would be more than happy to know him and Róisín is trying to grab Tucker’s hair. They all stop, though, looking behind Jack with wide eyes, and the boy turns around to see what it is. Anti’s at the stairs landing, a gloved hand on the golden rail. He’s wearing a yellow sweater, hair loose but brushed, and he comes down to them. The freckled man purses his lips, stopping next to Jack, and Tucker is the first one who breaks the silence.

 

“Damn, boss! It’s nice to see you again,” he says.

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

“Mr. Ó Dubháin,” Ethan smiles. “Good to see you.”

 

Jack nudges Anti’s elbow and sends him a look because he was right. The man rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. The young boy shakes his head, whispering the Irishman is practicing some kind of witchcraft to make the guy leave his bedroom. A small sense of pride kisses Jack’s heart but he just shrugs, asking if they want to put the stuff they brought in the kitchen. Tucker nods, gathering his tupperwares, and Jack gives Róisín to Anti without hesitation so he can help. Both Ethan and Tucker freeze at that, large eyes flickering back at the baby and him, and the brown-haired man urges them to move. Everyone starts organizing new supplies and the young boy is the one talking with Anti the most. He seems so excited and the freckled man just holds the baby close, humming and listening to the kid telling everything that’s been going on.

 

Tucker shows what he brought for breakfast and they all sit at the counter, eating pastries and drinking coffee. Anti stays next to him but he focuses on Róisín the most, letting her grab his finger or play with his hair. She makes him less anxious and Jack smiles at them, content that he’s there. The guys being there to help will be good too, especially after having a bad day yesterday. The Irishman is tired, so it will be nice to have a calm moment today. Once they’re done eating, he goes to the garden with Anti while the others take care of the house. It’s what would probably be his job, to be honest. To just focus on the man. But since he didn’t want no one nearby after the fire, Jack’s dealing with everything. He’s supposed to help  _ Anti _ in the first place, although it has proven to be difficult.

 

“You need a stroller,” the ginger-haired man says, adjusting the baby in his arms, and they slowly walk through the garden.

 

“I’m bad at this, I know…” Jack murmurs. “She’ll be three months this week. I’ll go out before that to buy some stuff.”

 

“I’ll pay you in advance just for that.”

 

“Oh, I wish you were that easy about the rest,” the Irishman chuckles.

 

Anti scowls but Jack knows that he doesn’t mean it. Not with a baby tugging on his locks. The brown-haired man calls her out and they stop for a moment. He takes her small hands away from it, giving her a bunny plushie instead, and they’re both looking down at Róisín. When Jack lifts his head, he notices how close they are, and he draws in air. He steps back and they continue their walk, looking at a fountain and the beautiful forest from afar. Anti grumbles about Ethan and Tucker spying on them from a window, and Jack snorts. They find a nice spot under a tree, with a good shadow not to upset Róisín, and the boy gathers some flowers to place it on their hair. Anti touches a yellow daisy tucked behind his ear but he leaves it there. Jack does the same with him and the baby, everyone with a flower, and she just shakes her bunny.

 

The freckled man lies down on the grass, placing her blanket there so she can rest there too,  and the Irishman dies a little bit when seeing him pretend to bite her tummy. Róisín giggles and squirms, both smiling bright. Jack’s heart swells and he bites his bottom lip, staring at Anti’s grin. It’s the first time he sees him like that, not frowning anymore. He looks so beautiful, green eyes turning into half-moons while he plays with the baby. The brown-haired man huffs a smile himself, hugging his legs and watching them. Anti is careful not to scratch his beard on Róisín’s skin and Jack really,  _ really _ wants to run his hand through the man’s hair. It just looks so soft right now, ginger locks shining under the sun, and… God, he shouldn’t be thinking about this.

 

Jack rests his back against the tree instead, sighing and closing his eyes. The leaves move with the wind and he keeps his hands on his lap. The Irishman feels better today, not wanting to leave that grief in his heart for too long, and he’s slowly healing. Róisín will be three months soon and he will buy her nice things. Maybe Anti will like to join him, who knows. He could also bake some cupcakes and he makes a mental note to search about burn scars. There’s shuffling and he knits his eyebrows, opening his eyes only to see Anti’s face near him. The man blinks at him and Jack stares at his scars again, down to his lips. Droopy left eye. He tenses up when the freckled man raises a hand towards his face, but touches a flower behind the boy’s ear instead.

 

“It was falling…” Anti whispers and his gloved fingers brush on his hair for a moment. “Are you alright?”

 

“Y-Yeah, I am,” the brown-haired man says, ignoring his heart. “Let’s go back inside. We can grab some lunch and you can have your pie later. Sounds good?”

 

“Don’t baby me.”

 

Jack chuckles, remembering his touch in that bathroom, and his cheeks redden. “You like it, otherwise you’d have fired me by now.”

 

Anti just hums and that hint of a smile kisses his face again. A weak shine in his eyes that it wasn’t there before. Warm green staring at blue. They exchange a look and the man leans back, giving them space to get up. Jack holds Róisín this time and they slowly make they way back to the house, stealing glances at each other with yellow daisies in their hair.

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Boss follows you everywhere now.”

 

Jack drops a dirty plate into the sink and he turns his face to Tucker with wide blue eyes. They just ate and Anti’s in the living room, watching some baking show with Róisín while having some peach pie. The Irishman still felt like doing something, despite saying it was his “day off,” and Ethan is snickering in the background after Tucker’s comment. Jack flushes and murmurs something about that not being true and the blond-haired man just wiggles his eyebrows. He throws water at them, everyone chuckling, and he does his best not to overthink about it. Jack’s been there for around three weeks now and any sort of progress that they are seeing, is from Anti’s own doing. He’s the one trying to make a change and not just hide all the time in a dark room.

 

He comes back to the freckled man once he’s done with the dishes. Tucker and Ethan go upstairs, and Anti is all spread on the couch. Jack sits on an armchair and Róisín is in her basket, distracted with her plushies. Sometimes the man will caress her hair from there, stretching his arm a bit, and the Irishman relaxes again. There’s this lazy feeling in the air, like a blanket around them, and he doesn’t know how that happened. They’re both tired from different reasons and they still have daisies behind their ears. Jack leans against the chair and shuts his eyes, resting his cheek on a hand. The television sounds are a nice background noise for all of them and it doesn’t take too long for the boy to fall asleep. It’s a light nap, with no nightmares to haunt him. No hospital bed in his mind nor a grave.

 

However, something wakes him up after a while. Jack jolts himself awake and he looks around to find the couch empty. Róisín is there, though, and he picks her up. There’s a distant noise that calls his attention and he rubs his eyes, sighing and rocking the baby a little bit while walking through the lobby. No one is in sight and he doesn’t know where Anti went, how long he was asleep. Probably just an hour or something. The sun is still up. Jack pushes the swinging door to the kitchen, already opening his mouth to speak, but he freezes upon seeing someone different. There’s a guy by the fridge, looking down at their food and messing around. Jack’s blood runs cold and he tigthens his hold around Róisín, stepping back while swallowing hard. The baby makes a sound and the person stands up straight, looking up at them with a croissant in his mouth.

 

The man’s wearing a leather jacket, dressed in all black and wearing a choker around his neck. He has dark brown hair and beard, curls falling over his forehead and freckles all over his face. Jack frowns, seeing green eyes. A septum piercing and gauges. It feels like he’s staring at someone familiar and the Irishman doesn’t even think twice before speaking, a stupid word rolling out of his tongue.

 

“A-Abél?”

 

“God, no!” the man speaks, words muffled by the croissant. He bites it and Jack steps back even further.

 

“W-Who are you? How the fuck did you get inside the house?!” the brown-haired man asks, heart picking up. Fuck. Oh, god. There’s a stranger right in front of him and he can’t let anything happen his baby. “Abél! Anti!” he shouts, running out of the kitchen.

 

The dark-haired man follows him into the lobby and Jack cups Róisín’s head, glaring. The stranger tells him to calm down and stop yelling, but the Irishman doesn’t listen. He keeps shouting for the man not to touch him and he hears heavy footsteps. Everyone comes down to see them and the baby is crying in Jack’s arms. He huffs, heart racing, and he paces around the place all upset. Anti’s eyes widen and he stops in front of them. Tucker and Ethan make a weird face and they stay in the back, looking horrified.

 

“Andreas,” the ginger-haired man murmurs, looking paler than ever.

 

“Bell…” the intruder whispers, face scrunching up in emotion. “What the fuck happened to you?”

 

Anti purses his lips and he touches his burned face, as if suddenly so self-conscious of it. Jack’s anger fades but he’s still worried, shocked. Andreas. Is this man Anti’s brother? The Irishman thought he wasn’t even alive, in the first place. Goddamnit, he just gave Jack a fucking heart attack, showing up like that. Jesus fucking christ. The brown-haired man stays near the freckled man, shushing his baby, and Anti sighs before kissing her forehead to calm her down. Jack felt so scared for her, his eyes fill with unshed tears, and Andreas just stands there like a fish out of water. The ginger-haired man scowls and touches the boy’s chin for a moment, as if calling his attention. Jack sniffs but looks at him.

 

“I’ll have a talk with my brother. You stay here with them. Don’t come up, even if you hear something,” he mutters. “Do you understand?”

 

The boy nods, knitting his eyebrows, and Anti makes a motion for his brother to follow. Andreas scowls back, hands in his pockets, but he steps forward. Jack watches both of them walking upstairs and he grimaces. Fucking hell. Ethan comes to him, touching his shoulders and guiding him into the living room. He glares at the floor, cursing himself for feeling so nervous, and Tucker joins them on the couch. Jack asks what the hell is going on, hugging Róisín close, and the young boy murmurs something about Anti not seeing Andreas in a long time. He used to show up like that a lot before, without any warning. The Irishman scratches the back of his head and sighs, trying to calm down. They say Anti didn’t tell Andreas about the fire and that makes the situation even worse. They try distracting him but they’re all uneasy.

 

It gets louder.

 

Jack hears muffled shouts and shattering noises, and he just rubs his temples. He feels a headache settling in already and he takes the daisy off his hair. Everything was doing so well, Anti looked so happy and relaxed for once. Tucker whispers that they don’t fight often but, when they do, it can be really bad. Fucking great. He just wants to curl into a ball with Róisín and he hopes that this stops soon. He was so silly too, calling that man Abél, even though he clearly didn’t have copper hair. They have the same shade of green in their eyes and so many freckles, he just couldn’t help it. They are both slender and tall too, with a scowl.

 

When it takes longer than they thought, Ethan and Tucker apologize that they have to go. The sun is setting and they live far away from there, so Jack tells them it’s alright. The blond-haired man reminds him of the food he left in the fridge for them and the young boy says that Andreas is a good person, that he shouldn’t worry that much. Jack raises an eyebrow at him when there’s another thud upstairs and Ethan laughs nervously. They hug before saying goodbye and they promise to bring nice things for Róisín next time. The brown-haired man smiles and he goes to his bedroom, wanting to be away from all that shouting.

 

It’s only after another hour that things get quiet and Jack’s lying down in his bed, huffing. Róisín is asleep in her crib and the moon is up in the sky. He gets up to open his door, walking into a hallway, and he sees Andreas leaving Anti’s bedroom. They both stop for a second, staring at each other, and the man’s eyes are red. He purses his lips and moves forward, that intent gaze locked on Jack. The Irishman stands still, just crossing his arms over his chest, and Andreas looks at him up and down. He’s even taller than Anti and despite the boy feeling small, he glares back.

 

“Sorry I spooked you before,” Andreas murmurs. “I thought my brother was alone.”

 

“Are you staying with us?”

 

“Nah, I don’t like this house. I’ll be back sometime, though.” He gets closer, until Jack slowly rests his back against a wall. He swallows and Andreas hums, blinking down at him. When he opens his mouth to speak again, Jack sees a tongue piercing in his mouth. “Bell seems to really like you. I’m hoping you can take care of him.”

 

The Irishman frowns. “I _am_.”

 

Andreas smirks and winks at him before turning around, going downstairs and leaving through the front door. Jack presses his lips together and walks towards Anti’s door, knocking before calling for him. He opens it, seeing the moonlight illuminating the room through the windows, and he gasps under his breath when seeing Anti on the floor, resting his back against his bed and with his legs up. His face is hidden and Jack grimaces at the room, noticing more broken frames and knick knacks. There’s shattered glass on the floor and he’s careful when approaching the man. The Irishman sits down in front of him, touching his knee, and he pushes strands of ginger hair away from Anti’s face. The man grunts and flinches at the touch, and Jack thinks he hears a sniff.

 

His eyebrows go up at that and the freckled man’s eyes are red, but no tears have escaped. The brown-haired man tucks his hair behind his ear, lingering a bit to caress him there, and Anti is glaring at himself. He seems so fragile, so small. Jack’s heart clenches and he moves slow, cupping the man’s cheeks to call his attention. Anti refuses to look at him, fighting back his emotions, and the boy sighs.

 

“Hey,” Jack whispers, leaning closer. “Are you okay? Your brother left…”

 

The freckled man finally locks their gaze and he looks so tired. Anti doesn’t say anything but he wraps his fingers around Jack’s hands, leaning into the touch and closing his eyes. He’s not wearing gloves anymore and he rests his head on the boy’s shoulder. The brown-haired man swallows at that, not expecting the man to be this vulnerable in front of him. Jack’s heart skips a beat and he sits down better, both resting against the bed. Anti’s all curled up, breathing slow, and the boy runs his hands through ginger locks to soothe him. They stay like that, in the silence, just calming down. The Irishman holds back a sigh, worried about this man, and he rubs his thumb on his cheek.

 

The ginger-haired man moves after a while and their hands fall back to their sides. Jack feels a pang in his heart, somehow wanting their touches to last longer, but he says nothing. Anti does make a face when trying to get up, placing a hand on his hip as if in pain, and the boy frowns. When he asks what it is, the man murmurs something about Andreas and him punching each other, and Jack’s face falls. He’s ready to go on a rant about it but Anti interrupts him by saying that’s normal and his skin is just sore right now because of the scars. The brown-haired man scoffs, not understanding their relationship, but he remembers that ointment from before. When he was trimming Anti’s beard.

 

“D-Do you…” he stutters, not knowing what to do. “Do you want me to… You have an ointment for that, j-just… Sit down on your bed.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Just do what I say.”

 

Anti grunts but they get up from the floor and Jack goes to the bathroom, avoiding all the broken pieces on the way. Fuck, he’ll have to clean that later. He takes a moment to just breathe, staring at his own reflection in the mirror, and he fixes his hair. God, what a day. Jack takes the ointment from the medicine cabinet and goes back to Anti, telling him to take off his shirt. The freckled man clenches his jaw but rolls up his yellow sweater, revealing his marred skin. Jack clears his throat and sits down behind the man in bed, staring at his skin. There’s an eye tattoo between his shoulder blades, just a simple design, and he wonders how many of these Anti has around his body. The ginger-haired man looks over his shoulder to meet Jack’s gaze and the boy sends him a small smile of reassurance. He uncaps the bottle and asks where it hurts, applying some of it on his back.

 

Jack sighs, once again taking care of him, and he doesn’t press his fingers too much against Anti’s burned side. The man does groan in some places, down to his waist. Andreas must have punched him in the stomach or something. The smell of the medicinal lotion fills the air and the freckled man loosens up under his touch. Jack tries not to think too much about the fact that he’s giving his boss a freaking massage, feeling his skin. Anti sighs.

 

“We haven’t seen each other in a year,” he murmurs. “I didn’t want to bother him with… this.” Anti makes a motion at his body and Jack grimaces, slowly pressing his hands on the man’s shoulders. “He didn’t mean to scare you, An means well. We just had a lot to catch up.”

 

“By catching up, you mean beating and yelling at each other?”

 

“I deserved that, I lied to him,” Anti huffs. “We’re fine.”

 

Jack takes a deep breath and rests his forehead against the man’s shoulder blades. “I’m gonna die sooner out of the stress you give me.”

 

The freckled man snorts and the Irishman whispers for him to turn around. They’re face-to-face now and Jack takes his hands to apply the ointment around his wrists. He hopes that this makes Anti feel better, less sensitive and sore. He needs to do this more often, but Jack’s glad that there's been no sign of drinking for a while now. The man with the green eyes looks at him through long eyelashes, letting the boy move his arms. Jack brushes his fingers over that snake tattoo, admiring it for a moment, and he doesn’t dare to massage the man’s chest. Just that thought makes his cheeks redden and Anti just blinks at him.

 

“Stop that, Abél...” Jack whispers. “You’re always staring at me.”

 

“You do that when you get nervous,“ he says instead. “Call me by my first name.”

 

The brown-haired man hums, pursing his lips, and they talk a little more in the middle of the night. Jack listens to Anti murmur about his younger brother and how they just drifted apart. Andreas went to an university, wanting to focus on his studies, and the ginger-haired man left him alone. The Irishman talks about Megan, a bittersweet feeling in his heart, and they share small stories. It’s the longest Anti has ever talked to him, but maybe he needs this. Both of them. Jack stops massaging the man at some point, but he leaves his hands over Anti’s. If the freckled man notices that, he doesn’t show it. They just snort and chuckle lightly over their silly siblings. The Irishman understands a little more, seeing love in his green eyes whenever he mentions Andreas. Jack whispers he shouldn’t have kept a secret about his wounds. Life is too short and the boy learned that on the hard way.

 

“It’s best to just be honest with the people you love,” he mutters. “Keep them close, show them that you care...”

 

Anti opens his mouth to speak, but closes it. He moves his fingers, brushing against Jack’s, but not quite entwining them. The boy’s stomach does something funny and his heart races, sucking in air. He should go. He needs to clean this place and watch Róisín, it’s already late enough. Anti watches him get up and Jack gathers all the broken pieces from the floor, just tidying it up as fast as he can. He tells himself that he can vacuum the place tomorrow and the ginger-haired man lies down in bed, still shirtless. The Irishman throws everything in a trash can and he washes his hands before stopping in front of Anti’s canopy bed. He sees green eyes at him and Jack stutters a goodnight.

 

He puts a hand over his stomach when walking away, looking down at the floor, and he lets out a shaky breath. God, this is bad. What the hell was he thinking? Sure, checking on Anti and all is something he should do. But not _massage_ him! Getting this close and then just talking low, in the dark. It was so endearing to hear him, to understand him better, but it’s also making Jack confused. His heart. He has a baby to take care of, a job to do. He shouldn’t be having these emotions, wanting to linger and caress ginger locks. The Irishman’s probably imagining things too. He sighs and walks into his bedroom, checking on Róisín fast asleep. Jack stares down at her, placing her bunny closer, and he brushes his knuckles on her cheek.

 

Before he lies down in his own bed, he takes off his pants and shoes, huffing when the back of his head falls onto the pillow. Jack drags a hand over his face, ribs moving up and down with his breathing, and he remembers that burned painting in that room. Two kids, holding each other. Andreas and Abél. It makes more sense now, why the ginger-haired man spends so much time there. Jack should also take care of that workshop. He hopes Anti lets him. They could just remove all the broken pieces and he can start painting again, who knows. Keeping the ones that have been ruined are no good.

 

Jack turns around, burying his face into the pillow, and he sighs. When he falls asleep, he dreams of copper hair. Hands brushing and stolen glances. It leaves his heart aching, longing for something he can’t quite grasp.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart:  
> [galaxykitty42](https://galaxykitty42.tumblr.com/post/179706679390/i-didnt-know-which-one-i-liked-better-so-i-put)  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

Something changes after that night.

 

Anti leaves a note for him in the morning, saying he will be at the piano room today, and Jack has a collection of these little messages by now. The house is quiet and he enters that place for the first time when bringing breakfast for the man. It’s rather empty, with large windows and a tall ceiling. Anti’s sitting in front of a black piano, in the middle of the room, wearing a black t-shirt. Feet bare under the bench. The boy goes to him, saying good morning, and the freckled man tucks some of his hair behind his ear with a murmur. Jack places the tray on top of the piano, the smell of scrambled eggs filling the air, and he asks if Anti feels better. The man nods and, when the boy turns to leave, there’s a hand around his wrist that stops him.

 

“Stay,” Anti mutters and it’s too early in the morning for Jack’s heart to skip a beat.

 

“I-I… I need to be with Ró.”

 

“Bring her,” he continues, voice hoarse and low from just waking up. “Have breakfast here.”

 

Jack looks at him and huffs with a smile, nodding. Anti lets him go and the Irishman prepares the baby’s formula before picking her up, walking them back towards the man. She squirms in his arms, wearing a red dress and little socks, and he sits down by Anti’s left side. The copper-haired man purses his lips, touching his face for a moment, and Jack once again whispers that it’s alright. He feeds Róisín and she moves her feet against his arm, hands clenching in the air, and Anti eats some of his food. He plays the piano and the brown-haired man watches him, sunlight bathing the room. There are birds chirping outside and the curtains move softly with the wind. It’s so calm now, it’s almost dreamy.

 

Anti’s fingers falter a couple of times and Jack bumps his shoulder when the man glares at himself. The boy tells him to keep going, so he does. Róisín finishes her bottle and he makes her burp, earning a snort from the freckled man. She’s blinking all heavy and Jack can’t help but smile wide, laughing at how cute she is. Anti stares at them, humming.

 

“I think she likes this one,” the copper-haired man says, playing a soft tune. “Don’t you, little rose?”

 

She giggles when Anti leans forward, bumping his forehead lightly against hers, and Jack can’t handle this. He just can’t. It’s too endearing. The Irishman gives her to him, wanting to steal some of the man’s food, and Anti doesn’t seem to mind. Jack says he wanted to go out today to buy her a stroller and more clothes, but he sort of has to ask for permission to the man.

 

“I was wondering if you would like to join me,” Jack says. “Leave the house for a bit… Maybe you could get some art supplies too. New canvas.”

 

Anti knits his eyebrows. “Do you really want me to?”

 

“Yeah,” the boy replies. “Yeah, I would like that very much.”

 

The man pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking, and the Irishman knows he might be anxious around people. It’s not that hard to figure that he doesn’t leave the house in a long time. Anti eventually murmurs an answer, saying he will go, and Jack smiles at him. He calls Tyler, letting him know about their plans, and they go to their bedrooms to take a shower. The brown-haired man dresses in that striped shirt, black jacket and jeans. He takes one of Róisín’s bag, putting everything that she might need in it, and he puts the strap over his shoulder. He meets Anti at the stairs landing and he blinks at the man, taking it all in. The ginger-haired man has a scarf around his neck, a yellow cardigan over a black t-shirt, and he’s wearing a long skirt. Black boots with flowers embroidered on it and round sunglasses tucked in his shirt’s collar, under the scarf.

 

Jack’s lips part, thinking he looks hot, and he flushes. Anti takes Róisín’s car seat from the boy, wanting to help, and the brown-haired man blurts out that he looks pretty. The freckled man huffs and he’s even wearing gauges. Jack stares at them more than he should, liking how it looks, and they make their way to the front door. They sit by the fountain, waiting for Tyler, and he can already tell that Anti is anxious. Jack tries soothing him with words, saying they can stay in quiet places and take it slow. Tyler arrives in a black BMW and the boy holds back the urge to whistle again, staring at the big car. There’s plenty of space and they adjust Róisín in the backseat, between them. The chauffeur seems more than surprised to see Anti and he’s all smiles at his boss. It’s quite funny to see.

 

To say that the freckled man is nervous when stepping out of the car is an understatement and Jack regrets a little bit for making him leave the house, even though he needs it. Anti keeps holding the baby in his arms and Jack stays close, both walking into a mall. Their shoulders brush and the Irishman has double the work. He needs to watch out not only for Róisín, but Anti as well. The man with the green eyes tenses up at every person that looks at him and he glares so hard, Jack thinks he’ll pop a vein. He already calls enough attention with being a six foot tall ginger that’s wearing a skirt. The scars are just a bonus. The brown-haired man whispers if he’s alright and if he wants to go back, but Anti shakes his head.

 

They don’t lose time to find a baby store in the mall and look for a stroller. He wants to use it right away so they both won’t have to worry about holding her all the time and it’ll be more comfortable for her. Jack learns quickly how stressful it is to have a baby and how everything needs to be well thought. He drags his hands over his face, groaning at the strollers in front of them, and he wants to test everything. Anti points at an infant one, of a light color. It says it’s ergonomic and it has anti-allergic materials, fabric soft under the touch. It’s more expensive than he expected it to be and he makes a face, unsure. The freckled man places Róisín inside the bassinet, as if trying to convince the boy, and she fits well there. He stares down at her, biting his bottom lip.

 

“I’ll pay for it. Don’t worry about numbers,” Anti murmurs and Jack flushes, stuttering that he can afford it by himself. “I only waste my money with booze. Save yours. Let me do something useful with it.”

 

“That’s… That’s too much.”

 

“Just pick whatever you want, Jack.”

 

The Irishman feels embarrassed but he appreciates the kind gesture. His face is burning hot but Anti doesn’t seem to mind, already looking for more stuff. He calls an assistance, telling her what they want, and they end up spoiling the baby a lot. They get her a baby bath and one of those baby swings that they can control to rock her by itself. The ginger-haired man shows him a plushie of a planet, with little stars and comets hanging from it, and Jack grins. It’s soft and Róisín’s eyes glue to it, babbling and wanting to grab it. They don’t carry anything that they buy and Anti says Tyler will pick everything up for them, so they don’t have to worry. The brown-haired man does carry that plushie for her, though, and they will leave the store with the stroller. He adds more blankets inside, a small pillow and her bunny before she lies down, and he puts her bag underneath it.

 

Jack rubs the back of his neck when they go to the cashier, grimacing at the numbers on screen, but Anti is unphased. He takes out his credit card and pays for everything, and the boy feels the weight of his own wallet in his back pocket. They walk side by side and Anti seems a bit more relaxed, taking things slow. A woman stops to look at Róisín and Jack tightens his hold around the stroller, smiling but slightly worried. She’s sweet and says the baby is adorable. Everything seems fine and he chats a bit, telling how old Róisín is. Anti is quiet next to him, waiting for the woman to leave. It’s just the last thing that she says before leaving that makes his eyes widen.

 

“You two are very lucky parents! Congratulations!”

 

Jack sort of chokes and Anti purses his lips. Alright, sure. The woman confused them as a couple with a baby. That’s fucking embarrassing, isn’t it? Not only _that_ makes him panicked, but the fact that he _is_ a parent. It just hits him that he is a father and he just stands there, in the middle of the mall, knuckles turning white around the handle. He is Róisín’s guardian and he’ll take care of her his whole life. A _father._ Jack lets out a strained sound, heart picking up, and he can’t bring himself to suck in air. Anti notices that and he nudges his elbow, calling for him. The Irishman shakes his head, staring at the baby, and his face scrunches up in emotion. Oh, fuck. His heart is beating a mile a minute and he can’t focus on anything anymore, too many thoughts suddenly crashing in his mind. So many _what ifs_.

 

“I-“ Jack sobs. “I need to s-sit down.”

 

“Are you alright?” Anti asks, taking control of the stroller and guiding him towards a bench. The boy leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, and he covers his face. “Jack, talk to me.”

 

Oh, no. He can’t freak out right now, not in public. What if Anti leaves again?! Would he leave the boy alone with a baby in a fucking mall? He doesn’t want to be alone! God, please. Jack gasps for air, anxiety attack crawling under his skin, and his eyes fill with tears. The ginger-haired man brings his arms down and he pulls the back of the Irishman’s hoodie up. He cups Jack’s face, until they’re looking at each other, and the boy sobs. Somehow he feels hidden, stroller in front of them, and his hoodie only makes him see Anti. His green eyes focused on him. The freckled man rubs his thumbs on his cheeks, gloves brushing against his skin, but Jack just cries. This is so humiliating, he’s so weak. Why can’t he control his own emotions? He just wanted to have a good day.

 

“Seán…” the man whispers his first name. “Breathe.”

 

“I’m just-“ he hiccups. “I w-wasn’t ready to be a parent, I wasn’t expecting Megan to-! I’m fucking… I’m not g-good at this and Róisín deserves so much more and I don’t know if I can give her that! What if something happens to her?! T-To me?! And I’m scared you’ll leave, I’m sorry. W-We should have stayed home.”

 

Anti clenches his jaw and Jack blinks several times, vision blurred with tears. There’s a soft touch on his cheek and he jolts a bit at that, not paying attention. The freckled man just removed his grey scarf to wipe his tears, rubbing the boy’s eyes, and Jack sniffs. It feels like Anti doesn’t know what to say to comfort, but he doesn’t leave. The Irishman takes a deep breath, calming down his heart after ranting, and he’s shaking. The copper-haired man keeps wiping his tears away and Jack huffs, feeling like an idiot.

 

“I’m sorry, that w-was so stupid,” he whispers. “I feel like a kid now…”

 

“Mm,” Anti murmurs. “Now you know how you treat me.”

 

Jack scrunches up his nose at that, half sobbing, half chuckling. “I kind of like it, though.”

 

The freckled man rolls his eyes and wraps his scarf around Jack’s neck before standing up. He asks if the boy feels like going home. Again, that word. _Home._ The Irishman knits his eyebrows and, when he draws in air, he catches the man’s scent around him. It’s fresh and citric, grounding. Nothing too strong but enough to leave him wanting more. Fuck. He shakes his head, saying he wants them to eat something and Anti still needs to find more art supplies. The man sighs and makes a motion with his chin, calling the boy so they can continue then. Jack tries brushing away that embarrassment and forget what happened, but there’s a small relief in his heart knowing Anti didn’t leave. He keeps touching the scarf, every now and then, breathing in his scent and hiding a smile.

 

Jack tells himself to focus on _now._ It won’t be any good to overthink, to think of the future. He looks down at Róisín, unaware of all their worries, and he adjusts her dress. Anti makes them stop by an art store, one that Jack has never dreamed of going inside, and he’s fascinated by it all. The owner recognizes Anti and it’s weird to think that this ginger-haired man is really famous. He sounds like when they first met, though, acting cold and humming. Jack notices these changes. Subtle, but there nonetheless. The guy mentions the fire and how sorry he is for what happened, and Anti just have a deadpan expression. The Irishman interrupts the conversation, smiling big, and he politely asks if he can provide what they need because they won’t be long.

 

Anti glances at him for a moment, a small hint of a smile just for the boy, and Jack’s heart flutters. They end up buying everything that the man needs and they stop by a special bathroom to change Róisín. He prepares her formula there, thankful for those infant rooms in malls, and he asks if Anti wants to have breakfast for lunch. The ginger-haired man raises an eyebrow, not protesting, and there’s a coffee shop right across the street. They choose to sit outside, in a quiet corner with a sunshade. Anti puts on his round sunglasses, leaning against the chair, and the cold breeze of October lightly hits their faces. Jack’s more calm but his cheeks are so puffy from crying. He must look exhausted and he hasn’t been taking care of _himself._ The Irishman makes a mental note to trim his own beard.

 

He blinks at the menu, asking for a croissant and a cappuccino. Anti mumbles something about an iced tea and lemon cake, and he takes Róisín from the stroller. Jack gives him her bottle as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and Anti’s the one who feeds her. The freckled man pulls his glasses back, along with his hair, and the brown-haired man stares at them, lips parting. It’s such a simple moment and yet it does something to him. Jack rests his cheek on a hand, elbow on the table, and he watches with tired eyes. Damn. He’s losing it, isn’t he? Róisín drinks it all and, when their food arrive, they chat a little bit while she rests back in her stroller. There’s more silence than anything, but it’s rather comfortable. Anti will murmur a thing or two about how he used to take care of Andreas and Jack smiles at that, thinking that they were glued to the hips.

 

“Dubháin?”

 

They look up see a man taking off his own sunglasses, grinning at them. Jack knits his eyebrows, seeing silver hair and blue eyes. Anti’s calm expression changes completely, glaring at this person, and the Irishman bites his lips. The man is wearing a suit and, when the freckled man asks what he wants, Jack doesn’t like the answer.

 

“Ah, c’mon, Dubháin! It’s so difficult to find you nowadays! I saw you here and thought of saying hello, that’s all. I see that you’re still disfigured.”

 

“Excuse me, who are you?” Jack scowls.

 

“Oh, where did my manners go? My name is Felix Kjellberg,” the man smiles and the boy doesn’t like that. “And you are?”

 

Anti clicks his tongue. “He’s none of your business.”

 

Jack feels defensive, knowing the ginger-haired man looks uncomfortable and angry. He touches Róisín’s stroller, as if wanting to protect both of them, and they are glaring at this guy. Felix whistles, saying something about them needing to relax. Jack doesn’t like how he keeps glancing at him with a smirk and even more when he asks about the baby. The brown-haired man locks his gaze with Anti’s from across the table and the freckled man catches his thoughts. He tells Felix they want space and that he said hello, so he can go now. The silver-haired man waves his hands, laughing but leaving with a bow, and Jack makes a face at that. Anti is scowling so hard, the boy kicks his leg under the table to make him stop. They sigh.

 

“The hell was that? Where do you know him from?”

 

“Felix is a leech, just a daddy’s little boy who is rich and thinks he can have everything. I may have my own status, but I’d rather die than to be like him,” Anti grumbles. “A pretentious cunt.”

 

“Abél!”

 

The copper-haired man shrugs, saying he’s right, and Jack can’t help but laugh. Felix wanted to buy all his paintings at an event once and Anti refused it, not liking that man’s attitude. His art will not be in someone’s house that can barely fit their ego. Jack scratches the back of his head, not wanting to get in the middle of that, so he just nods. Anti seems agitated after that, more tense, so the boy calls Tyler to pick them up. The Irishman feels the urge to hold his hand, to just press his thumb between the man’s eyebrows, but he does nothing. Róisín is fast asleep when they get in the car and Anti keeps looking out the window. Jack glances at him, seeing his scars and hair flaws, and he purses his lips. There’s something in the freckled man that is captivating and it leaves him with an aching heart. He shouldn’t be getting too close. He shouldn’t be thinking about these things.

 

It’s more quiet when they get back to the mansion and the chauffeur will make sure to leave their packages by the lobby, so they don’t have to worry. They slowly get inside, Anti opening the door for him, and Jack carefully holds a sleeping baby in his arms. When they start walking up the stairs, the brown-haired man wishes that could last. He doesn’t want to be alone for the rest of the day but Anti wants some space, some calm after going out. Jack stops by the stairs landing, floor creaking, and he stares at that dark red blanket on the wall. The ginger-haired man is next to him and the boy is still wearing his grey scarf. Jack turns to face him, breathing in and just taking a moment to really look at him. Anti holds his gaze, for once not breaking eye contact. The Irishman takes a step forward, almost going for a hug but he stops, realizing he has a baby between them.

 

“Thank you…” Jack whispers instead, staring up at green eyes. “For today. For what you did. Thank you for making me company. I liked it a lot.”

 

Anti just gives him a short nod and the brown-haired man smiles, eyes turning into half-moons. They go to opposite sides and, once again, Jack thinks something has changed. There’s this aura around them, a pull that brings them closer. The Irishman finds himself hiding more grins under the scarf, catching that citric scent, and he places Róisín in her crib. The day is still very much there, but he will also take this time to rest. When he lies down, huffing at the ceiling, it feels like he’s on a bed of roses.

 

He just hopes he doesn’t find any thorns.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hear that? That's the sound of my boy being a sugar daddy lmao.


	8. Chapter 8

Anti walks around the house shirtless more often, which means that Jack’s blushing  _ more often. _

 

The Irishman is cooking them lunch when the man walks into the kitchen. He just grabs a peach before leaving, not liking to be there too much, but it was enough time for Jack to turn his face at him and see his naked chest. Copper hair tied up in a bun. He looks back at the pan, adding water into the rice, and his cheeks burn. The Irishman has a fucking crush on his boss and that’s enough trouble already. Anti is not helping the situation at all. Part of the boy is glad that he feels comfortable doing this now, though. The freckled man is not shying away as much as before, even though there are still some barriers between them.

 

Today Róisín completes three months, on October 14th, and Robin will be there just to say hi. It’s been a while and Anti is not stopping him for having a visit. Ethan and Tucker will stop by at some point as well, and that warms Jack’s heart. The man with the green eyes is more distant right now, though, just lurking and locked in some room. The Irishman thinks he must be anxious with so many people coming into the house today, so he doesn’t press the matter. With that in mind, Jack leaves a note on Anti’s workshop door to tell him lunch is in his bedroom and the boy eats in the living room next to Róisín. She’s wearing a yellow onesie that the freckled man picked for her, with a red headband in the shape of a flower. She’s looking up at that planet plushie hovering over her baby swing and Jack smiles at that.

 

“Jack.”

 

He looks up from the couch to see Anti standing there, taking a deep breath, and there are strands of copper hair falling over his face. He’s not wearing any gloves, hands and chest smeared with paint. Jack perks up at that and Anti’s sweatpants are hanging down to his waist, slender body exposed in the living room. They exchange a look and the freckled man makes a motion with his chin, calling for the boy.

 

“Come here.”

 

Jack’s heart flutters at that and it’s stupid. He clears his throat and gets up, going towards Anti, and the man whispers for him to follow. The Irishman does what he’s told, both walking into the lobby and under the stairs to find his workshop. Jack cleaned that place yesterday, removing all broken and burned pieces. He opened the windows and fresh air finally entered that place. Anti still didn’t want to part from that burned painting, but the place looks much better. They go down into the room and the copper-haired man whispers for him to close his eyes. Jack laughs nervously but obeys and Anti wraps a hand around his wrist, guiding him. The smell of paint hits his nostrils and they come to a stop. The freckled man tells him to open his eyes and, when the Irishman does, he lets out a small gasp.

 

There’s a new painting in front of them and it has a pair of hands cupping a red rose. The art is more messy, with sharp lines that give a sketched kind of look but still realistic. The vibrant red practically glows in the room, standing out in the dark background, and there’s sunlight bathing this place. It’s such a simple image but it makes Jack’s eyes tear up, content that the man finally painted again. Anti clenches his hand around the boy’s wrist.

 

“It’s… It’s supposed to be you holding Róisín,” he mutters. “Your little rose.”

 

The brown-haired man huffs a smile, heart aching, and he moves his hand just enough to entwine their fingers. They’re both looking at the painting but he feels Anti tensing up, drawing in air and clenching his jaw for a second. He relaxes, though, and his hand is warm. Rough. Trembling slightly. Jack chuckles, brushing away a tear that has escaped, and the man looks at him.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Jack tells him, tightening their hold. “Is this why you were so anxious? Is this what you were doing?” Anti nods and the boy chuckles more with tears. “Well, fuck. This is too flattering.”

 

The copper-haired man hums. “You… Both of you were… inspiring.”

 

The Irishman smiles at him and then a thought hits him, one that makes the tips of his ears burn so he looks away. The thought of kissing Anti comes in his mind and his heart races. Jack lets go of their hands and the freckled man knits his eyebrows at that but says nothing. None of them ever does, really. It’s frustrating. He hates how he clenches his hands, feeling nothing anymore. Jack whispers he’ll be at the kitchen, making blueberry cupcakes before people arrive, and Anti is welcome to join him. He does tell the man again that he’s happy about the painting and, when he turns around to leave, he notices another canvas in a corner. It’s much bigger and it’s covered by a blanket. Anti sees him looking and murmurs something about that one not being done yet. Jack just nods and sends him a small smile before walking away.

 

He tries shaking that feeling away, dragging a hand over his face and setting everything up. The copper-haired man shows up after a moment, surprisingly. He walks into the kitchen slow, as if it’s his turn not to scare the boy away, and Jack huffs at his still shirtless state. Anti at least have the decency to wash his hands and get rid of that paint, strands of hair hanging down from that loose bun. The Irishman guides him, both working to make cupcakes, and they eventually find that comfortable pull between them again. Jack giggles when there’s flour in the air and he waves his hands, telling Anti to be careful.

 

“Stop eating the blueberries! God, you’re terrible at this! Just focus on making the frosting,” the boy half laughs, half groans. “This is my kitchen!”

 

“Is it?” the freckled man murmurs and steals another fruit, chewing with a smirk. That long scar that goes down to his lips moves along with his smile and he leans against the counter, next to the boy. Jack pretends to be angry, trying to hold back his own grin, and Anti has flour and paint all over his hair. “I’m pretty sure I’m the owner of this place and you have to obey me.”

 

“And I’m your caretaker,” Jack whispers. “You should listen to me.”

 

Anti hums, lightly bumping his hand on the boy’s chin. “Bossy.”

 

The brown-haired man huffs and his heart flutters. The freckled man looks so pretty, so relaxed. Sweatpants hanging down his hips that show his happy trail and burn marks. Snake tattoo on his forearm and green eyes locked on his. He’s  _ smiling _ . Jack stares at him through half-lidded eyes, forgetting the cupcakes, and he doesn’t think twice before leaning forward. His hands move up to cup the man’s face, fingers brushing against copper hair and rough skin, and he closes his eyes when closing the gap between them. Anti freezes under his touch, holding his breath, and their lips don’t move. The Irishman adds more pressure, heart racing, and he feels the man’s scar. When the ginger-haired man doesn’t react at all, Jack’s face crumbles and he breaks the kiss, lips making a sound. Their eyes meet and Anti is frowning, so the boy slowly removes his hands from him.

 

“I-I’m…” Jack whispers, ashamed and heartbroken. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, I… I thought… I thought y-you… Fuck, n-nevermind.”

 

The ginger-haired man opens his mouth to say something but they both jump out of their skin when the doorbell rings. Anti turns around, running out of the kitchen, and Jack thinks he fucked everything up. Oh, god. He’s so stupid. He doesn’t even know if Anti likes men and he just… Fuck! The Irishman can’t keep himself together for one fucking day, can’t he? What happens if the guy decides to fire him this time? Where will he go? All the money he has it’s going to his hospital bills, he can’t afford being somewhere else. Jack grimaces, a pang in his heart, but Ethan’s voice calls his attention. He swears under his breath and sniffs, brushing a tear from his eye while walking out of the kitchen. Tucker and the brunet are just closing the door and Jack forces a smile, waving at them.

 

“Hey! Mr. Ó Dubháin walked pass us in such a hurry. Is everything okay?” Tucker asks.

 

“Yeah!” the Irishman brushes it off. “Everything is fine. W-Why don’t… Can you check on Ró for me? I’m just finishing some cupcakes.”

 

Ethan follows him to help with the rest and Jack’s just working on autopilot, trying not to shake too much. He swallows and, once the cupcakes are in the oven, he comes back to the living room. The Irishman’s shoulders are hunched down, worried to death, but he keeps smiling nonetheless. Róisín looks up at Tucker and they talk for a bit, catching up. Robin arrives shortly after and Jack all but hugs the man, chuckling when the Swedish man calls him too sentimental. He can’t help it. It’s been a month since they last saw each other and so much happened since then. Robin brings a pair of small little shoes for the baby and Jack lightly punches his shoulder, saying he didn’t have to. It warms his heart seeing everyone talking and getting along, but he keeps looking at the doorway. Hoping to see Anti coming downstairs.

 

Jack gets them some drinks and he lets the cupcakes cool off while getting them some snacks. When there’s a knock on the door, though, the brown-haired man frowns but groans after opening it. He sees Andreas with a dark green sweater, tucked in black torn jeans with chains. He’s wearing rings and a different choker, with a small crystal hanging from it. Curls all over his forehead and black combat boots.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

The man raises his hands in the air in a comical gesture. “Excuse me? I knocked this time? A simple hello would be nice!”

 

“ _ Hi, _ ” Jack says and repeats his question. “What are you doing here?”

 

Andreas rolls his eyes and walks inside, making himself at home. “God, you hang out with my brother way too much. You sound just like him.”

 

The Irishman sighs and closes the door, shaking his head and letting him be. He does ask if Andreas can bring Anti back to the living room or just check on him. The dark-haired man nods at everyone, waving before heading upstairs. Jack shouts a warning for them not to fight again or he will kick the boy out of the house, and Andreas laughs on his way. The Irishman focuses back on Róisín, holding and rocking her for a bit while listening to his friends. The light-haired man does ask if he’s alright and Jack whispers he’s just a little tired. It takes a while, but he sees Andreas on the stairs landing from afar, dragging Anti with him. The ginger-haired man seems to be arguing and glaring, as if wanting to go back, but his brother points at the living room direction with the same scowl. Jack looks away when they both walk closer, finally entering the room.

 

it takes him quite a few minutes for him to gather courage and glance at the man. Anti’s in his yellow sweater again, hair loose, and he’s wearing round glasses. He’s sitting on the floor, between Andreas legs, and his brother starts making little braids with his ginger locks. Jack swallows and pats his baby, focusing back on what Robin is saying. They are both stealing glances at each other and the boy flushes every time. God. Why did he do that? He ruined whatever this thing was between them. Anti clearly doesn’t feel the same as him and Jack’s so fucking ashamed. He doesn’t know what to do. It seems like the freckled man doesn’t want him near. Fuck.

 

Jack excuses himself for a moment, giving the baby to Tucker so he can hold her, along with her bottle, and he goes back to the kitchen with red eyes. He all but leans against a wall, sighing and dragging a hand over his face. The Irishman starts decorating the cupcakes, adding the frosting, but he tenses up when Andreas pushes the door open. The dark-haired man stops right next to him, judging with those familiar green eyes, and Jack takes a deep breath.

 

“Bell told me what happened,” Andreas says and the boy grimaces. “You really got into his head, huh?”

 

“Please, I don’t wanna talk about it…”

 

“I do,” the man mumbles. “I cannot handle you guys stealing glances like fucking teenagers all day. We all know Jingle Bells over there ain’t gonna listen to anyone, so I’m talking to you. I wanna know why you guys are all grumpy.”

 

Jack puts the frosting down and turns to look at Andreas, a hand on his hip. “Is it my side of the story that you wanna hear? Fine! I kissed your brother, even though I shouldn’t have and he doesn’t share the same feelings I thought he did. I have a  _ baby _ to take care of and I should have obviously thought about that! No one would want anything to do with me while I have a child in my arms, let alone me being a man. I just work here! Are you satisfied now? Can you tell that I’m tired and humiliated? Can I just finish these goddamn cupcakes?!”

 

“Sheesh! Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Andreas makes a face. “You both got it bad, I get it. I just want my big brother well, alright? Didn’t mean to push it.”

 

Jack sighs and places a hand over his forehead. “No, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I’m not like this. I’ve been just… overwhelmed. I know you mean well, Andreas.”

 

The kid hums. “Do you want help with the cupcakes? Can I steal one now?”

 

He snorts, murmuring something about them being really brothers, and he nods. Andreas smiles and eats one while helping. Jack tries to put his shit together and, when they go back to the living room, he purses his lips when seeing Róisín in Anti’s arms. He glares at Tucker and the guy just shrugs. The Irishman watches the man feed the baby, still on the floor, and Andreas murmurs something about the freckled man getting protective of her. Anti grunts when the dark-haired man tells stories about how he wouldn’t let anyone get near his little brother, always taking care of him. Jack sits on a chair, leaning back, and Robin holds his hand. They’ve never been shy to show affection and support through touch, and that calms him down a bit. He notices the ginger-haired man glaring from across the room, but he ignores that.

 

They all end up watching a movie and, as the day goes by, the sky turns grey and dark. Jack looks out the window, not really paying attention to what’s on the screen anymore. Róisín is asleep in her swing, after he changed her, and Robin whispers into his ear how does it feel to be a mother of two. The Irishman snorts, knowing he’s counting Anti, and he answers that it feels like he has four new kids. Everyone in that room, to be honest. The Swedish man pretends to be offended, scoffing, and the boy chuckles under his breath. Anti glares and stands up, his silhouette calling their attention in the dark living room. He walks up to Jack and the boy tenses up, looking down at his lap. The ginger-haired man grunts and his shadow casts down at the Irishman, tv in the background.

 

“I want to talk.”

 

Jack presses his lips together, whispering. “It’s fine, you don’t have to. Just sit down…”

 

Anti’s eyebrows twitch and he seems… lost. The brown-haired man wants to apologize all over again when looking at him, but they just stay quiet. The freckled man scowls harder and walks out of the living room, leaving Jack even more concerned. Andreas sends him a look from across the couch and the boy just shrugs. The younger brother rolls his eyes so hard, his eyes flutter, and the wind makes a loud sound when hitting the windows. They all notice the change of weather and, once the movie is over, they all get ready to leave before the rain. Jack thanks everyone for hanging out and Robin hugs him tight, telling him to call if he needs anything. Ethan and Tucker wave and Andreas is the last one by the door, hands in his pockets. He just whispers for both of them to get it straight and stop acting like children, and Jack playfully shoves him away.

 

“Peach boy is too stubborn,” Andreas snorts. “Trust me, I grew up with that beast. Give him some time. I meant it when I said he liked you. It’s honestly disgusting the way he looks at you. Never saw him like that.”

 

“I think you’re mistaken,” Jack murmurs, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “Sorry I was so angry at you before. I guess that was payback for you scaring me the other day, though.”

 

“I like you,” he laughs. “You’re a tough one. I don’t know how you manage to take care of two babies, but I’m impressed. Teach me your ways, cupcake boy.”

 

They both chuckle and the dark-haired man salutes him before going towards his motorcycle. When Jack goes back inside, he sighs when looking down at the rest of the cupcakes on the table and he realizes that Anti didn’t eat any. The Irishman cleans the room and saves them for later, walking through the house with tired eyes and mind. It starts raining, a light drizzle, and he carries Róisín back to their bedroom to place her in her crib. The house is quiet, even more after everyone leaving, and Jack’s heart is heavy. He’s worried about what will happen. What it  _ won’t _ happen. The boy doesn’t see Anti for the rest of the night and he has trouble sleeping. The rain softly hits the windows and he wonders what would Megan do. Probably not kiss the owner of the house, to be honest.

 

He’ll fix this. Jack tells himself that he will and, if anything, they all can pretend nothing happened and just move on. This way, the brown-haired man won’t lose his job or need to start something new. He doesn’t want to. Jack would be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss this house. So, maybe they could just forget about it. Yeah. He could do that, right?

 

Right.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cupcakes, amarite? :^)
> 
> Fanart:  
> [galaxykitty42](https://galaxykitty42.tumblr.com/post/179875908160/sparklepines-r%C3%B3is%C3%ADn-because-its-a-rose-and)  
> [annies-side](https://annies-side.tumblr.com/post/179594032131/the-best-magician-depressed-artist-that-deserves)  
> Edits:  
> [awkward-bullshit](https://awkward-bullshit.tumblr.com/post/179693533198/peach-boyo-for-sparklepines)  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

Two days.

 

Two days pass and Jack doesn’t see Anti at all. It’s frustrating and it hurts more than it should, leaving no room for him to heal. He has to place the tray outside the bedroom door, knocking and insisting that the man eats, but the food is left untouched. Jack’s sure that Anti leaves at some point, though, especially after noticing that the rest of those cupcakes are gone. The workshop looks the same, but he swears that there’s the smell of fresh paint in the air. The Irishman will glance at that bigger canvas in the corner, only to ignore it. He should know by now that it’s for the best not to pry. It still hasn’t stopped raining. Not really. The sky is grey and there’s a cold air around everything, so Jack hasn’t been to the garden since then. Róisín is napping after being fed and the Irishman is glaring at Anti’s door, listening to the rain falling in the afternoon.

 

The brown-haired man opens the door, grimacing at how dark it is again, and he sees a lump under the covers. Jack fights the urge to roll his eyes and just flickers the light switch on, seeing Anti move from that cocoon of blankets. The room smells and the boy makes a face, walking towards the canopy bed and huffing. He waits for a moment but the ginger-haired man stays hidden, a low grunt in the air.

 

“You know, I was okay with just pretending that nothing happened but this is getting ridiculous,” Jack says. “Let me see you.” Another grunt and the Irishman stomps his foot on the ground, groaning. “Abél!”

 

There’s movement and the freckled man finally peeks his head out of the covers, showing his greasy ginger hair and tired face. For fuck’s sakes. Jack pulls the covers and the man yelps, trying to push them back, but the boy insists. He tells Anti to stop and just get up, only to hear a deep groan. God, give him patience. Jack yells that he needs to shower and he all but goes to the man, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. Anti makes protest sounds, grumbling like there’s no tomorrow, and they both exchange a glare. The Irishman drags him towards the bathroom, hating that the freckled man is still wearing that yellow sweater. He didn’t change at all. He was just in that bed, for two fucking days. Jack works on autopilot, just rolling up Anti’s outfit and throwing it on the ground. The ginger-haired man swears under his breath, tucking greasy strands of hair behind his ear.

 

“I can do this myself,” Anti murmurs, voice hoarse from barely speaking.

 

“Clearly, you can’t!” Jack huffs and pushes him into the shower, turning it on. The copper-haired man yelps from the cold water and he complains about still wearing pants. “Good! Wash your clothes for once! I don’t care.”

 

“Why are you so angry?”

 

“Because-” Jack groans and then stops himself, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. The sound of water running fills the air and Anti is hugging himself. The Irishman’s not sure if he’s trying to hide his burn marks or if he’s just protecting himself from the cold. He sighs, shoulders falling. “I’m sorry… Just… Take a shower, will you? I’ll be outside.”

 

Jack drags a hand over his face and walks back into the bedroom, seeing how messy everything is. Alright. Anti is showering and he’ll make something for the man to eat soon, so that’s good. The Irishman changes the freckled man’s sheets and makes his bed, opening a window just a little bit so air can flow. The rain sounds are louder after he does that, but it’s comforting. He just sits on Anti’s bed once he’s done, calming down his heart, and he brushes his fingers over the covers. When the man comes out of the shower, Jack’s hit by that citric smell again, and he’s wearing a towel around his waist. The Irishman swallows and looks down, waiting for Anti to get dressed. He clenches his hands every now and then, and the freckled man clears his throat. Jack’s blue eyes find green, seeing Anti in grey sweatpants and nothing more. His hair is wet, burned side more pink after the shower, and his freckles stand out.

 

“You’re making me lose my goddamn mind,” Jack huffs with a smile, his way of apologizing for yelling. “If you wanted me to go away, you could’ve just said it. Locking yourself in a room isn’t exactly really helpful. But I guess I understand… We will leave, if that’s what you want.”

 

“Jack…” Anti whispers.

 

“I told you I was sorry, I _am_ sorry. I’m not gonna do it again,” the boy continues, covering his face in exhaustion. “It was a mistake and I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll leave you alone. I was wrong and stupid. I just work here, I get it.”

 

“Jack.”

 

The next time Anti talks, it’s much closer, and the Irishman freezes when there’s a light touch on his hair. The mattress shifts with a new weight and he puts his hand down, seeing the man sitting in front of him. He caresses Jack’s hair, moving down to brush his knuckles on the boy’s cheek. The brown-haired man knits his eyebrows, heart clenching, and it’s not fair that the man is playing tricks on him. Anti blinks at him, long eyelashes batting against freckled skin, and there’s a moment of silence. They just stare, both so close, and he likes how the man smells now. It’s fresh and light, copper hair falling over his right eye. Anti purses his lips, opening his mouth a couple of times as if fighting his words, and Jack just waits.

 

“When you… I’m…” the artist mutters, knitting his eyebrows. “I thought you would feel repulsed. My face... It’s… I don’t… I didn’t think you would want… Fuck!”

 

Jack whispers his name, telling him to calm down, and the man’s nostrils flare. It’s clearly so difficult for him to speak, to explain his emotions. The Irishman’s frown fades and his lips part, taking it all in. Anti was scared. He was scared about his scars, of how it would feel. The ginger-haired man tries talking again, murmuring something about Jack deserving someone better. _Anything is better than this,_ he says. Anti was pushing him away on purpose but the boy didn’t leave, insisting on taking care of him. God, what a silly man. Jack shakes his head, not believing him. He cups the freckled man’s face, sighing and brushing his hair away to look into his eyes. Anti wraps his fingers around the boy’s wrists, leaning into the touch, He whispers that he didn’t feel that at all. He _wanted_ to kiss Anti.

 

“Do you still want to?” the man asks.

 

Jack opens his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by a thunder and Róisín’s cry. Anti removes his hands and leans back, frowning at himself, and the Irishman wonders if he lost an opportunity there. He purses his lips, having no choice but to get up and leave the room. Jack walks into the hallway, finding his own bedroom, and the baby’s cries are louder. He picks her up and pats her, shushing and gently swaying. Róisín squirms and there’s more thunder in the distance, making him sigh. He paces around the room with her and he looks at the doorway to find Anti there. He’s put on a black, long-sleeved shirt and he walks up to them, sending the boy a look. Jack nods at his silent request and lets him hold Róisín, watching her cling onto him. The ginger-haired man hugs her close, caressing her hair and kissing her forehead, and the Irishman whispers something about him being her favorite. Anti hums, a small smile on his face.

 

They quietly go downstairs, side by side, and the brown-haired man is holding Róisín’s bunny. He says he’ll make something for the man to eat and Anti follows him with the baby. Jack thinks of preparing a sandwich, something not to use the stove, and the freckled man plays with the bunny to distract Róisín from the thunders. The Irishman places a plate in front of him with a couple of sandwiches and he holds the baby so the man can eat. They share but Anti is clearly hungry, chewing on big bites with trembling fingers. The boy sighs and tells him to slow down. At least he’s glad that Anti didn’t hurt himself again. There are no fresh cuts on his body and that’s a relief. He still needs to find that knife. Jack jiggles his leg while they eat, calming down Róisín, but she keeps sniffing and looking distressed. He whispers he loves her little pout and Anti’s hair is curling all over again.

 

When they’re done eating, Jack feels a bit lost. He doesn’t really know what to do. Their moment from before was broken and now they’re back again to just glancing at each other, blushing. God, Andreas was right. They _are_ acting like teenagers. He still can’t believe that Anti was that worried over his appearance, thinking the boy would change his mind. The Irishman’s heart clenches when Róisín lets out a small cry after another thunder and Anti purses his lips. He clears his throat, knitting his eyebrows before speaking.

 

“You could…” the freckled man murmurs. “You could stay with me. Both of you… You look tired. I could watch her too.”

 

Jack huffs, touching his own hair, self-conscious of the dark circles under his eyes. “This isn’t exactly a charming look, huh?”

 

Anti hums, shrugging. “You are handsome.”

 

The brown-haired man chuckles but his smile fades, realizing the man really think he’s pretty. God. Jack’s staring at him with heart eyes, he’s sure of it. Anti takes Róisín from him, calling him back to reality, and the boy shakes his head. Does the freckled man really want him there? He opens his mouth to question that but the man just gets up and makes a motion for him to follow. The Irishman huffs and they leave the kitchen, but he picks up some stuff for the baby on the way just to be safe. He keeps touching his hair and cups his own cheeks, though, worried about what Anti said. Does he look that tired? Is it too obvious? The man nudges him, whispering for him to stop, and Jack flushes. They walk into the artist’s room and, this time, the boy closes the window so the rain won’t get inside. The ginger-haired man is standing next to bed and it hits Jack a moment later that he wants them to sleep there.

 

The Irishman’s face turns as red as a tomato and he’s so glad Róisín is there, her little sounds breaking the tension. Jack pushes the covers and the baby stays right in the middle. Anti takes off his shirt and the boy looks down at his own jeans, wanting them gone but unsure. The freckled man huffs, just urging him to get comfortable already, but Jack goes to the bathroom to unzip his pants. He washes his face and takes a deep breath, staring at himself in the mirror. Fuck, he _is_ tired. He removes his pants and shoes, staying just on his boxer briefs and shirt, and he comes back only to see Anti hugging Róisín in bed. He has his eyes closed, burned side down to the pillow, and she’s lying on her back. Jack thinks he’ll never get tired of seeing this man with that baby. It always pulls strings in his heart.

 

Anti opens his eyes, blinking at the boy, and he looks down at his legs. Jack pushes the hem of his shirt, self-conscious of his pale legs and thighs, and he gets in bed. The Irishman is intoxicated by Anti’s scent and they exchange a look, baby between them. He sighs, burying his face into the pillow and rubbing his legs.

 

“Now I know why you never leave this place…” he whispers. “Why does your bed have to be better than mine?”

 

Jack sees Anti’s scar move with a hint of a smile and he blinks at that, once again admiring that side. That left green eye, of a lighter shade. The copper-haired man moves a bit to hide, looking down at the baby, hair falling down to his neck and covering that white scar.

 

“That was before…” Anti mutters and Jack frowns. He points at that thin line on his throat before placing it over Róisín. “Before the fire. Andreas has one too.”

 

The Irishman listens, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, and he finds out that his younger brother tried to end his life a long time ago. They were teenagers and Anti just couldn’t see himself without Andreas. He just panicked. They were alone in their house, so he did what he thought it was best. Anti did the same thing with himself, as sick as it might sound. The freckled man lets out a dry chuckle, saying their parents were quite shocked to find them on the floor. Jack grimaces, but he’s thankful that they survived, that their parents got them to the hospital in time. The cuts weren’t too deep. The Irishman’s family had a whole conflict with alcohol and he lost brothers because of it. When he shares the same pain, both whispering in the dark while it rains, it feels intimate. They’re showing their emotional scars.

 

Jack takes a deep breath, chest moving up and down, and he puts his hand over Anti’s. They’re both keeping Róisín safe and sound, and the boy’s eyelids are heavy. The copper-haired man caresses his hand with his thumb and Jack smiles lazily, sleep getting the best of him. Anti murmurs for him to rest and the boy gets more comfortable, moving closer and sighing. God, he loves this scent. It feels like he could be there forever. Jack shuts his eyes and Róisín is more quiet, relaxing like them. When he falls asleep, for once, it’s good. There are no nightmares and it’s rather hazy, blurred. It’s a heavy sleep, body slack, and he barely moves from exhaustion.

 

Anti does shift in his sleep and Jack notices that in the morning, slowly stirring himself awake to see the man lying down on his stomach. His face is turned to the other side, just his back and ginger hair in sight. Jack stretches a bit, being careful not to wake them up, and he cleans his eyes. Róisín is fast asleep and he hears some birds chirping, rain gone during the night. He looks at the other side, staring out the window. A foggy, cold morning. The brown-haired man throws an arm over his head, taking a deep breath, and it’s been so long since he felt that. Just… calm. No rush to get up. When he hears shuffling, though, he looks to the side to see Anti staring back at him. Jack murmurs a good morning, voice low from just waking up, and the man grunts. The boy snorts.

 

The freckled man looks so peaceful, a serene expression on his face. Not frowning. God, Jack loves those sharp green eyes of his. He’s so gone. He’s _gone._ It doesn’t really help that he’s in Anti’s bed, does it? The Irishman holds back a sigh and just asks if the man wants some breakfast. The copper-haired man scrunches up his nose, just wanting to stay a little more in bed. Jack lightly touches Róisín’s hair, just making sure she’s alright, and they both admire her. The brown-haired man swallows when Anti raises an arm to touch his hand, up to his arm. The boy’s heart picks up, biting on his bottom lip, and he just stares at the man. His fingers caress Jack’s skin up to his shoulder, resting on the back of his neck. He has goosebumps and he huffs with redden cheeks. Anti just hums, brushing a thumb on his jaw. He seems to be deep in thought, lips parting after a moment.

 

“I want to show you something…”

 

It’s not the first Jack hears that, nor does he think it will be the last. That’s just how Anti is. The Irishman frowns a bit at that but they get up nonetheless. Jack gently holds Róisín while the man goes to brush his teeth, and he goes back to his own room to do the same after placing the baby in her crib. The mansion is quiet, just their feet making a sound, and the boy walks still just on his boxer briefs and shirt. Anti meets him halfway, both with bed hair, and he takes Jack’s hand before leading him downstairs. It feels like deja vú when they reach the artist’s studio and the brown-haired man is used to the smell of paint by now. Anti’s hand trembles under their touch and they stop in front of that big canvas in the corner. Jack rubs his eye, sleepy still, and he looks at the freckled man.

 

“It’s…” Anti murmurs, scowling at himself. “It’s not done yet. I’m still working on it. Normally I don’t like… I don’t like showing my unfinished works but… I thought you would like it.”

 

For a brief moment, Jack wonders if it will be another painting about Róisín. He quickly learns that he’s wrong, though, and he even takes a step back in surprise, eyes wide. The Irishman’s mouth falls open, staring at a painting of _himself._ It’s a goddamn portrait. Anti is painting _him._ It’s Jack, face turned to them, as if someone just called him and he turned around to see. His bright sapphire eyes is what calls his attention the most. There are so many details and yet he loves that rough sketchy trace that Anti has. It’s not clean. Unpolished. Raw. Jack’s eyes fill with tears and he looks up at the artist, tightening their hold. The ginger-haired man shuffles on his feet, hunched down, and he’s clearly nervous about it. When he asks if Jack likes it, the boy snorts.

 

“Of course I do!” he laughs, eyes turning into half-moons. “Goddamnit, Anti.”

 

Jack can’t hold back anymore. There’s this tug in his heart, begging him to do something.

 

So he does.

 

He leans forward until their noses touch, heart beating against his ribcage, and the freckled man gasps under his breath. The Irishman closes his eyes and their lips brush. When Anti doesn’t react, he feels a pang of fear. Jack knits his eyebrows, adding more pressure again, and he lets out a gasp when the man moves his lips back. A spark runs through his body and they sigh, opening their mouths and leaning closer. Jack’s smiling between their kisses and Anti’s hands move up to his waist, hugging him. The freckled man hums and pushes them until the boy’s back is resting against a wall. Jack shivers, warm hands going under his shirt, and his eyes flutter when Anti pecks his neck. He’s melting in the man’s arm, fighting to breathe, and their lips make a sound in the room.

 

They tilt heads to deepen the kiss, tongues brushing, and Jack’s moan is muffled. Their beards scratch and he feels Anti’s scar against his own mouth. It’s sweet and slow, hearts fluttering and toes curling. He sucks on Anti’s split tongue, breathing picking up, and the freckled man groans. Fuck, this is really happening. They’re kissing. They’re _finally_ kissing. Jack flushes, brushing his lips against Anti’s, and he sighs. The Irishman holds the man in place to kiss his cheeks, his nose, his droopy left eye. All those little scars on his burned side. The freckled man freezes for a second, but he does moan when the boy goes down to his neck scar. Jack loves that sound.

 

They makeout for a long time, just roaming their hands through their bodies and sucking on their lips. Anti’s fingers brush on his stomach, up to his chest, and Jack buries his hands in the man’s copper hair. Their mouths are pink and sore from kissing, Jack’s hair is disheveled, and their pupils are wide. Anti bites his jaw and neck, hugging him close and pressing him against the wall. The boy giggles when he finds a tickling spot and the freckled man bumps his nose on the Irishman’s cheek, humming. Jack cups Anti’s trembling hands, kissing his knuckles, and he feels safe in his arms. The man with the green eyes just stares at him, knitting his eyebrows and lightly biting on Jack’s bottom lip.

 

“I didn’t think you would want this…” Anti mumbles.

 

“N-Neither did I.”

 

“I want you,” he continues, burying his face in the crook of the boy’s neck. He hugs the Irishman so tight, it makes the boy’s eyes flutter. “I won’t let you go. Do you understand? I mean it, Seán.”

 

“Then, don’t let me go,” Jack breathes into his ear, arms over the man’s shoulders. “Don’t let me go…”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dear friend of mine made a board with text messages based on this story, which it's super cool, so you can find it [here](https://pinterest.com/TaterzTots/texts/)!! And currently reminder I'm also updating their [storyboard](https://pinterest.com/sparklepines/choking-on-flames/) ❤  
>   
> 


	10. Chapter 10

To say that it’s difficult to leave Anti’s hold, is an understatement.

 

His heart is still racing when the man gives him some space, stepping back, and their hands fall to their sides. Jack touches his own cheek, huffing with a nervous smile, and he’s all red. Anti bites his bottom lip and the boy already misses his taste. Fresh mint, sweet in his mouth. They exchange a look, both wanting more but not daring, and Jack clears his throat. He whispers again that the painting is beautiful and Anti snorts. It’s an ugly one, a weird chuckle, and that’s just goddamn adorable. The Irishman asks if he wants breakfast now and the man nods, clenching his hands a couple of times. They walk with a small grin on their faces, going back to the lobby, and Anti tugs on the hem of his shirt. The cold morning makes everything have an air of tranquility, quiet. Just them, stealing glances and light touches.

 

The freckled man murmurs he’ll check on Róisín while Jack cooks something, and he kisses the boy’s forehead before leaving. The Irishman holds back a groan, not handling this man, and he walks into the kitchen. He places a hand over his heart, looking down at the floor, and he takes a deep breath. Jack never thought he would be that happy with a kiss. Part of him can’t help but feel slightly worried about what that could mean. Will Anti not want him to work there since they’re involved? Are they involved now? He doesn’t know if that would be weird. The Irishman hums to himself and just focuses on making some waffles. He chops strawberries, making them coffee and tea. He can’t stop thinking about their kiss, replaying that scene in his mind, and he opens a cupboard to look for the icing sugar. Jack stands on his tippy toes, trying to reach it.

 

Anti shows up behind him, reaching for the package, and the Irishman flushes while stuttering a thanks. When Jack turns around, he sees the baby in her basket, sucking on her pacifier. The copper-haired man murmurs about her eating too and the boy chuckles, telling him to wait by the kitchen island. He makes sure to prepare Róisín’s formula and he asks if Anti can pour their drinks. The artist does what he’s told and they find this comfortable pacing while making their plates. They eat waffles and sip from their mugs, and Anti feeds Róisín again. Their arms brush and Jack has to hold back so many smiles. He does whisper he wants to take a look at the garden, since it rained so much, and he wouldn’t mind to have the man there with him. Anti hums, nodding, and that makes the boy happy.

 

They go separate ways for a moment, both getting dressed, and the freckled man watches Jack go to the garden from the porch. He’s the one taking care of Róisín and the Irishman is not worried about that anymore. He trusts Anti with her. There’s mud everywhere, though, and he scratches the back of his head, thinking of all the work this will give him. Jack notices some broken twigs and fallen petals from the rain, so he gets rid of that little by little. Everything is doing alright, but then he sees Anti out of the corner of his eye, barefoot in the mud. Jack calls him out, telling him to go back or he’ll make a mess, but the freckled man just raises a foot in the air to take another step. He has a mischievous look on his face, hair tucked behind his ears and eyebrows up.

 

“Anti,” the boy warns him and the man just walks more into the mud. “Anti, don’t you dare!”

 

The copper-haired man leans down and touches the dirt, making a ball of it, and Jack yelps when he’s hit by it. The Irishman’s mouth falls open and he stands up with wide eyes, looking down at his  _ white _ shirt all stained. He brushes the back of his hand against his cheek, feeling mud there, and Anti lets out a content sound. That goddamn chuckle with a snort. Jack can’t believe in this child! He huffs and all but runs towards him, grabbing some dirt himself and throwing at the artist. The man dodges it and he lifts the boy from the ground, arms around his waist, and Jack laughs out loud. He yells at Anti to put him down but he regrets it immediately when the freckled man falls down on the wet grass with him. The brown-haired man half groans, half chuckles, and the man’s on top of him. Anti cups his face, smearing it with mud, and he leans in for a kiss.

 

Jack sighs and opens his mouth, throwing his arms over Anti’s shoulders, and they’re chest-to-chest. Ah, how perfect it is to taste him again. The ginger-haired man moves his hands slow, sliding them under the boy’s shirt once more, and there are mud handprints on Jack’s pale skin. His heart flutters and Anti licks his mouth, lolling his split tongue out. It’s mesmerizing to see it move and the Irishman does the same, both breathing into their scents. He moans when they deepen their kiss, body squirming. He nudges the man’s side, pushing Anti until they turn around, and he’s the one on top now. The freckled man gasps into his mouth and Jack’s thighs are keeping him in place. The boy giggles between kisses and the artist’s hands are all over him, humming and sucking on his bottom lip. It’s cold and he shivers, caressing Anti’s hair.

 

“I take it that you guys talked!” Andreas’ voice reaches their ears and Jack jumps out of his skin. He tries to get up but the freckled man grunts, holding him back. He turns to see the dark-haired man on the porch, hands cupping his mouth as he yells. “Thank you for traumatizing me! I didn’t need to see my brother making out and yet here we are!”

 

“That’s what you get for walking into my house,” Anti shouts back. “I’m gonna change all the goddamn locks.”

 

“You wouldn’t do that to me, Bell Bell, and that wouldn’t stop me anyway!”

 

Jack snorts and Anti tigthens his hold around his waist, calling for him. The Irishman blushes, knowing Andreas is watching, but he leans down for another kiss. The freckled man caresses the back of his head and their lips make a sound when pulling away. Blue meets green and Jack rubs his thumb on the man’s marred cheek, whispering for him to get some rags in the shed since they’re covered in mud. Anti lets him get up this time, going to find what the boy asked, and the Irishman grimaces at their state. He walks up to Andreas, rubbing the back of his neck, and the younger brother raises an eyebrow. Jack takes off his shoes to step on the porch and he clears his throat.

 

“You have a handprint on your ass,” Andreas murmurs and the tips of the Irishman’s ears burn. He smiles. “I’m really glad, though…”

 

They both look at Anti from afar, slowly coming back with rags in hands, and Jack stares back at Andreas. They really look alike and he wouldn’t be surprised if they were twins, if it wasn’t for the hair color. His eyes flicker down to the man’s choker, a leather one with a couple of spikes around it, and he imagines a white line underneath it as well. The dark-haired man hums, leaning against a column and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“He told you, didn’t he?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack whispers. “He did… I can’t express enough how happy I am that you guys are here, though.”

 

“Damn, Cupcake. You’re really head over heels over our Medium Rare, huh?”

 

“Don’t call us that,” Anti mutters with his usual scowl, standing next to Jack and giving him a piece of cloth. The Irishman half snorts, half grimaces at that last nickname.

 

Andreas sticks his tongue out, piercing in sight, and the copper-haired man makes a face in disgust. It’s so funny to see them together, just acting like brothers do. Jack tells him to clean his feet because no one will walk into that house like that, and Anti’s hair is a mess. The younger brother snickers, saying that they could shower together, and the Irishman flushes so much when the copper-haired man just looks at him as if asking the same. Goddamnit, these brothers will be the death of him. Jack stutters that he can go alone and Anti looks disappointed, but obeys. He does ask if Andreas wants to stay with them for a bit, if he wants to lunch later. The dark-haired man seems to be caught in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting Jack to invite him. He murmurs he doesn’t eat red meat and the Irishman nods, thinking he can work with that alright.

 

Jack makes him watch Róisín while they both take a shower and Andreas seems worried about fucking something up, but he agrees. The Irishman is careful not to smudge anything with mud and, god, he can’t hold back a stupid grin on his face while entering his bedroom. Anti is so silly sometimes, a fucking child playing around, but maybe that’s what Jack needs. He’s been so stressed and busy these past few months, it felt good to let it go and just  _ laugh. _ They both needed it. Fuck. Anti likes him back. Anti fucking  _ likes _ him, right? The brown-haired man didn’t think he would have these emotions when coming there. Not at all. There’s something so endearing in that artist. Something so captivating and warm in those lonely eyes of his. He’s beautiful.

 

The hot shower is much welcome and he dresses in a caramel jumper, with torn parts on the sides, and dark jeans. When he comes back, he sees that Anti’s wearing a long, thin cardigan. All black. Jack thinks his clothes are always one size larger, loose around his slender body, and he likes that. The brothers stay with the baby in the living room, talking, and the Irishman cooks. There are potatoes and fried chicken, along with some vegetables. When Jack brings their plates, walking into the room, he sees Anti trying to teach Andreas how to hold the baby. The younger brother is frowning and the copper-haired man coaxes him to do it. The Irishman smiles at them and Róisín just blinks at Andreas, moving her little hands. Anti seems satisfied with what he sees, nodding and grunting.

 

“She’s adorable,” Andreas and Anti say in unison.

 

Jack eyes them funny and they put her down in her basket, so they can eat. The younger man’s eyes light up, mouth full with food, and he says it’s delicious. Anti’s eating more slow this time and the Irishman sits on an armchair, enjoying this moment. They chat every now and then, sharing chuckles between bites, and Anti keeps looking at them. Andreas says his brother is the Shrek to Jack’s Fiona, and that makes the freckled man smack him on the back of his head. The boy bursts into laughter and the tips of the artist’s ears turn bright pink, grumbling about all of this. He scowls at his plate and Andreas baby talks him, making it worse. God, this is fucking hilarious to see. Jack covers his mouth with a hand, just watching, and Anti sends him a look that screams  _ Help me. _ The Irishman shakes his head.

 

They hang out for a couple of hours but Jack can tell that the freckled man is getting tired. It’s the same thing that happened when they went out. Anti’s energy slowly fades, not handling being in a social interaction after some time. Jack’s sure that he loves his brother, especially knowing what he did to be together, but that’s just how he is. It gets overwhelming, so he’s drained. Andreas notices that too, just smiling and kissing Anti’s cheek to make the man groan. They say goodbye for now and the dark-haired man winks at Jack, telling them to play safe. The brown-haired man walks him out and, when the boy is back, the freckled man sighs from the couch. He leans back, staring at Jack through half-lidded eyes.

 

“Come here.”

 

Ah. The Irishman’s heart clenches and his stomach does something funny at that again, except this time it means  _ so _ much more. Jack goes to him without a second thought and Anti takes his hands, pulling the boy to be on his lap, and they exchange a look. The brown-haired man looks down at the man, pushing strands of hair away from his face, and Anti touches his thighs up to his waist. They rest their foreheads against each other, just breathing into their scents, and Jack relaxes on top of him. The copper-haired man blinks softly, his mismatched green eyes focusing on the boy. He licks his lips, opening his mouth to whisper, and the Irishman listens.

 

“I’ve been invited to an event in November... It’s one of those fancy galas where our sponsors meet and they show all that it’s new. There are auctions, galleries, rich people pretending to be happy. Stuff like that.”

 

“That’s great, isn’t it?” Jack asks, caressing his hair. “They could see your new work.”

 

“Mm,” Anti murmurs. “I want you there with me.”

 

“Oh… But I’m just a-”

 

The artist places his thumb over Jack’s mouth, making him stop talking, and he traces the boy’s lips with a sigh. Anti whispers he hates these events, but he needs to go. They haven’t seen anything from him in a long time and work is important. Jack’s expression soften when the man says he wants him there for support. There’ll be a lot of people and Anti will be less stressed with him. The Irishman huffs and kisses the freckled man’s thumb, nodding. He leans down to capture their lips together and the artist hums into his mouth, beards brushing. Jack mumbles that he still can’t believe that he’s like  _ that, _ kissing that man. Anti’s hands move to roll up his shirt, just a little, and the Irishman arches his back under his touch. He moves his hips, not resisting, and the ginger-haired man cups his ass cheeks.

 

They tilt their heads, tongues brushing, and Jack moans under his breath. Anti moves slowly with him, both unsure, and the Irishman places his arms over the couch. Their lips make a sound in the room, wet from kissing, and the boy pants when they thrust a little harder. The freckled man groans, both getting hard, and Jack leans his body all the way down. He buries his face in the crook of Anti’s neck, eyes fluttering when the man squeezes his ass cheeks and pulling him impossibly closer. His heart is racing, pupils wide, lips red, and he touches Anti’s hair while they move their hips faster. Jack gasps under that possessive hold and he mewls the freckled man’s name into his ear. They kiss harder, a tad sloppy, panting into their mouths, and the heat below his navel is  _ so _ good. Jack likes how Anti’s scar moves against his lips and he wants more,  _ so _ much more. There’s another moan stuck in throat when they hear a cry, though, and they freeze on the couch.

 

Róisín wakes up from her nap, whimpering, and Jack swears under his breath. Anti’s hands go up to his back, making the boy shiver, and they’re panting with hazy eyes. Fuck, his cock is throbbing between his legs. The Irishman licks his lips, running a hand through his hair, and he clears his throat. Anti brushes his knuckles on the boy’s cheek, chest moving up and down as they catch their breath. Jack knits his eyebrows, embarrassed, and as red as tomato.

 

“I-I’m sorry, I-” he stutters. “I g-gotta…”

 

“Don’t apologize,” the copper-haired man whispers. “I’ll check on her.”

 

The Irishman rests his forehead against the man’s shoulder for a moment, taking a deep breath, and he moves off the man’s lap. Anti stands up, tugging on his pants, and Jack snorts. He covers his mouth, holding back a giggle, and the freckled man goes to Róisín. She needs to get changed and brown-haired man perks up at that, saying he can do it then. Anti shakes his head, though, so Jack takes him to his bedroom. Certainly not for the reasons he wants. The boy calms down his heart, wanting to focus on the baby, and he shows the man where he changes her. Everything is over a dresser and Anti places her carefully on the soft blanket. He cleans his hands with a tissue before touching her and, honestly, Jack never thought he’d find someone changing a diaper hot but there it is. The freckled man is just calm, knowing what he’s doing, and the Irishman watches him with a smile.

 

Róisín giggles when Anti brushes his fingers over her tummy, tickling her lightly, and Jack’s heart aches. He touches the man’s arm once he’s done, just placing a kiss on his shoulder and sighing. The copper-haired man adjusts her dress back in place and the smell of baby powder is in the air. He puts her in her crib, placing the bunny plushie next to her. There’s no such thing as running away from this life and, as stressful as it is sometimes, Jack wouldn’t change that for anything. He would do anything for her and it warms his heart so much knowing that Anti cares for her too. He was so scared. He still is. There’s that fear in the back of his head, of losing this. Whatever this _ thing _ is between them now. The artist has his burned profile towards him, looking down at Róisín, and it’s Jack’s turn to brush his knuckles there, on his cheek. Anti moves to stare at him, those green eyes of his almost glowing in the dim light of the room.

 

“I never thought I’d meet someone like you,” Jack whispers, knitting his eyebrows and letting his thoughts roll out of his tongue just for a moment. “You’re so stubborn and mad… And yet there’s something so beautiful in you, so gentle. I don’t know, I just... ” He shakes his head, turning to Róisin and thinking of a light in the middle of all this darkness. This grief. “I don’t know.”

 

“I really don’t deserve you,” Anti scowls to himself. “But I want you anyway.”

 

Jack opens his mouth to say something about that but the freckled man just leans forward, going for a chaste kiss. The Irishman’s heart skips a beat, nonetheless. It’s a long kiss that makes them take a deep breath and Jack cups the man’s face, not getting tired of tasting him. His fingers brush on marred skin and they slowly pull away, looking at each other through their eyelashes. Anti whispers he’ll be at his workshop, painting for a bit, and Jack nods with a small grin. He watches the artist leave the room and it feels like he takes something else with him, something within the boy. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against a wall, looking down at the floor. What is this? What is this that he’s getting into?

 

Anti wants to take him to an event. A  _ party. _ Jack drags a hand over his face, playing back early memories of kisses on a couch. Fuck. He’s really falling, isn’t he? The Irishman didn’t plan any of this. He didn’t come there looking for this, just a job and a place to stay with his baby. He didn’t think that Anti would bloom like a rose in the boy’s mind, little by little. And yet, there they are.

 

With strings around their hearts.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to say! [ I drew this digital piece of how Abél looks! :)](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/post/180084327039)  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

It’s Anti that wakes him up first in the next day.

 

Jack scowls, face buried into his pillow, and he groans when the man opens his curtains just a bit. He blinks to find his digital clock on a nightstand, only to grunt once more. It’s fucking six in the morning and usually no one is awake by this hour. The Irishman was dreaming of rather steamy things and he holds back a whine, rubbing his legs together under the covers. He slowly sits up in bed, cleaning his eyes, and he looks up at the freckled man through narrowed eyes. Anti is standing there, dressed in a dark purple, turtleneck shirt. Black torn jeans and hair tied up in a ponytail. Jack’s own hair is a mess, sticking to odd places, and he licks his lips before speaking.

 

“As much as I find you hot like that,” the boy murmurs, words dragging and voice hoarse from sleep. “You better have a good reason for waking me up…”

 

“You will go out with me,” Anti says and Jack’s thrown aback by that. Wait. What? Also, god, he doesn’t have a good way with words, does he? “We’ll have breakfast at a hotel and I want you to get dressed. We’ll be leaving soon. Put on warm clothes, it’s cold outside.”

 

“What… W-Who are you?”

 

The copper-haired man grunts, scowling. Okay, there he is. Jack huffs, dragging a hand over his face, and he nods. Anti seems satisfied with that and he turns around to take care of Róisín while the boy gets up. Jack goes to the bathroom, washing his face and emptying his bladder, and he takes a warm shower to wake up for good. He runs a hand through his damp hair and, when he walks out of the bathroom, Anti and Róisín are not there anymore but he doesn’t feel alarmed by it. Jack puts on some boxer briefs and pants, grabbing a shirt and throwing a jumper over his head. He opens a drawer to find the man’s grey scarf and he touches it, pursing his lips before placing it around his neck. The Irishman takes Róisín’s bag with him on the way out and he walks downstairs to meet them in the lobby.

 

Anti has a long black coat over his purple shirt now, along with gloves, and he’s holding the baby in his arms. She’s all dressed for this cool weather, with a grey cotton jacket over her white little shirt, and he smiles at her black pants. Anti made her wear the little white shoes that Robin bought for her, small silver details, and there’s a grey beanie on her head. She looks comfortable, nothing too tight, but she’ll still be protected from the cold. Jack brushes his knuckles on her rosy cheek and Anti looks at him. The brown-haired man hesitates a bit, but moves forward to catch his lips into a kiss, hoping that’s alright. The man leans down to kiss him back, tugging on the scarf, and Jack mumbles a good morning between their mouths. Anti hums and, when they pull back, he whispers he fed Róisín while the boy was showering. He doesn’t have to worry.

 

The Irishman thanks him, taking the stroller, and they leave the mansion side by side. Tyler arrives shortly after, in that BMW, and Anti tells him where to go. Jack rubs his eyes, still brushing sleep away from him, and he’s rather hungry. It just hits him a moment later that the copper-haired man might be taking him on a date and he flushes. Would he really? Is that what this is? The ride is quiet but comfortable and Jack places his hand on Anti’s thigh, fingers slipping under that torn part to feel his skin. Anti hums, a hint of smile, and the boy caresses him there. If Tyler notices something, he doesn’t mention it. They stop by a hotel and the chauffeur will wait for them. He asks the man why he wanted to go there, if there are many coffee shops around the city, but Anti murmurs that this is quieter. More private. They enter that fancy place and Jack wouldn’t dream to stay there even for just one night. He follows the artist, all of them going to the restaurant area.

 

They find a table in a corner and Anti is right. It is more quiet there and cozy. Even though it’s a self-service, the copper-haired man calls for a waiter and he tells Jack that he can eat anything he wants. The boy blushes but orders some pancakes, coffee and eggs. Anti orders his tea, murmuring exactly how he likes, and the Irishman holds back a grin upon seeing the person’s face in worry. They exchange a look while waiting and the artist seems calm, green eyes locked on his. Jack likes how his freckles stand out under the soft morning light, coming from a window next to them. When their food arrive, the boy’s mouth waters and he won’t deny the part of him that’s happy for not having to cook anything right now. He takes a sip from his drink and, god, that’s a goddamn good cup of coffee.

 

“You’re spoiling me.”

 

“Good,” Anti mutters and he pulls the stroller closer to them, where Róisín is resting. “We’ll go to a tailor’s shop after this. I want you to have a suit for the party.”

 

“Wh-” Jack says. “Anti… I can’t thank you enough for all these kind gestures but I can’t accept that. Those things are expensive and you’ve already wasted so much with me… I can find something else.”

 

“I’m not _wasting_ anything.” The freckled man raises his mug up to his mouth, hand slightly shaking as always. “Don’t you ever think that. If I’m doing something, it’s because I want it. And I want you to have this.”

 

The brown-haired man blinks at him, lips parting, and he wonders how did they get to this point. When did they start to act like this? Jack nods, eating some of his food, and thinking that everything seems different now. He feels bad knowing that Tyler is waiting for them all the time but Anti tells him not to worry, that that’s what he does. Róisín whines, wanting their attention, and the man picks her up while Jack finishes eating. She’s been more alert and she’s kicking stronger. He should really start reading about babies with three months. The Irishman tells Anti all of that and maybe they can find a few books afterwards. Róisín gets quiet in the freckled man’s arms so she stays there for a while. They finish breakfast and the artist pays for it on the way out. Jack tries to hide his redden cheeks behind the scarf and they go back to the car.

 

The tailor’s shop turns out to be in one of those rich areas that the Irishman never thought of going. The streets are clean and large, with brand stores on each side, and he feels out of place there. Anti helps him to get out of the car, setting up the stroller outside while the boy carries Róisín, and Jack thanks Tyler for leaving them there. The man will take a break after this and the artist calls him, urging him to get inside the shop. The Irishman follows him, feeling small upon seeing large shelves with fabrics and suits on display. The tailor’s shop has dark green colors and a beautiful floral wallpaper between wooden furniture. A man comes up to them, wearing a fancy black suit himself, and he appears to be on his mid forties. He greets Anti with a bow and Jack’s confused when he speaks in italian, but his eyes widen when the freckled man answer back.

 

“Come sta, signore? Quanto tempo!”

 

“Bene grazie…” Anti murmurs. “Ha bisogno di un abito. Cosa mi consiglia?”

 

“What…?” Jack says, gently rocking Róisín in his arms. “You speak _italian_? You never told me that!”

 

“I _am_ italian.”

 

The Irishman frowns even more and Anti exchanges a few more words with the man, both of them walking further into the shop. The ginger-haired man whispers he was born in Italy but his parents were always traveling across Europe. He lived there by himself for a few years, wanting to learn their culture and language properly. Jack questions his last name but Anti explains that his mother was Irish. Andreas was born somewhere else, though. They both know a lot different languages and the brown-haired man is just in awe by all of this. God, listening to Anti speaking italian is quite something, with that low hoarse voice of his. He wouldn’t mind listening to that again. Jack clears his throat and focuses back on why they’re there. Right. Suits. He needs a suit.

 

They change to english, thankfully, and the man’s accent is quite pleasant to hear. He’s kind and everything is very formal, asking if they want something to drink or eat. Anti holds Róisín while Jack goes to the back, entering a small room to change his clothes. He puts on a white formal shirt and loose pants, stepping over a low stool so the guy can adjust and check all his measures. Anti watches next to him, sitting on an armchair with the baby, and he discusses about fabrics and colors. The Irishman wouldn’t mind a dark blue and the artist likes that, saying it’ll match with his eyes. Jack flushes, looking at him through the mirror, and they exchange a smile. Anti wants a vest for himself and the tailor nods, already knowing his size. The more the brown-haired man stands there, the more glad he feels. It just hits him that the only suit he has at the moment was for his sister’s funeral. That wouldn’t exactly be pleasant to wear.

 

Anti orders a glass of water at some point, sipping from it, and Jack holds back a snort. There’s this different aura around him whenever they go out, whenever they’re with someone else. He just holds his chin high up, legs crossed, and he talks formally. Jack would be lying if he said that didn’t turn him on. There’s a strand of ginger hair over his face, loose from that ponytail, and his heart melts when he pretends to bite Róisín’s hand. She giggles, trying to get away, and they change places after a while. Anti goes to try on a vest and a new formal shirt with the man, and Jack finally sits down. He distracts the baby with her bunny and she blinks at him, comfortable in his arms. Jack’s so focused on her, that he doesn’t hear someone else approaching him. A shadow cast down on the boy and he all but grimaces when looking up, pressing her closer to his chest.

 

“Oh, hello there!” the silver-haired man says. He’s holding a cane, still wearing a goddamn suit. “Fancy seeing you again, darling. I take it that Dubháin is around, mm?”

 

“Kjellberg.”

 

“Ah, so you do remember me!” Felix smiles and he looks down at Róisín, humming. “What a cute little thing you have there. Do you seriously handle that brute while having a baby? My, my... What a good housewife you are.”

 

Jack scowls, glaring at him, and the silver-haired man murmurs he wouldn’t mind having one for himself. The Irishman doesn’t like that man, not at all. The way he talks and looks at him. It makes him uncomfortable. Jack tells him to leave, that he’s waiting for Mr. Dubháin, but Felix just shushes him and continues to babble about himself. The brown-haired man purses his lips, glancing back at Róisín, and his blood runs cold when the man puts a hand on his shoulder. He calls him out, not wanting to be touched, and Anti shows up in front of them. The freckled man bats Felix’s hand away and they exchange a look. A scowl and a grin. Jack stands up to be next to the artist, his own heart skipping a beat. Fucking hell.

 

“Don’t touch him,” Anti growls. “He asked you to leave.”

 

“You’ve always had a way with words, my dear friend. You already look like an animal, there’s no need to act like one,“ Felix chuckles and then he speaks to Jack next. “See? A brute. But I imagine you’ll be at the gala. I’ll gladly meet you again, then.”

 

The silver-haired man winks at him and the boy makes a face in disgust, stepping back and cupping Róisín’s head. Anti is scowling so hard, eyes dark, but the Irishman’s heart sinks when seeing Felix take a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. The man doesn’t even take his eyes away from Anti, just grinning while flickering that damn thing on, and the copper-haired man turns so fucking pale. He flinches when Felix waves the small fire closer, stumbling back, and the man laughs before turning around, leaving the store. Jack’s so upset with this man’s attitude, thinking it’s an absurd that someone like him exists, that it takes him a moment to notice Anti still standing there. He’s stiff, knitting his eyebrows at the floor, and he’s clenching his hands so much they’re shaking harder. Jack walks up to him, whispering his name, and the man just grunts between his teeth.

 

Anti’s all hunched down and his breathing is shallow, and the Irishman swears under his breath. He finds Róisín’s stroller to place her there for a moment and, once Jack’s hands are free, he cups the man’s face to try talking to him. The artist refuses to look him in the eyes, just fighting his own breathing, and his nostrils flare. The brown-haired man pushes him to sit down on the armchair and the boy kneels down. Jack’s panicking himself, heart racing and worrying over this man, but he tries not to show it.

 

“Abél,” he mutters, caressing the man’s cheeks and feeling marred skin. “Breathe, love. C’mon. I need you to breathe. You’re safe here. Focus on now, where you are.”

 

The copper-haired man lets out a small whimper, face scrunching up, and he shuts his eyes. Jack keeps coaxing him, whispering sweet nothings, and Anti buries his face in the crook of his neck. They hug each other and the Irishman’s heart aches for him. Felix is a fucking asshole, with that fucking lighter. Goddamnit. The tailor comes over to ask if Anti is alright and if he needs anything but Jack just shakes his head, saying he’ll be fine. They just need a minute. The artist tightens their hold, arms around the boy’s back, and he slowly relaxes. It seems like he’s doing his best to keep it together, not wanting to show his panic. The Irishman kisses his temple, that long scar up to his left side, and Anti sighs. The brown-haired man caresses the back of his neck and they move after a moment to look at each other. Anti blinks several times, eyes red, and he clears his throat.

 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles and Jack snorts.

 

“Of course you are, love.”

 

The freckled man perks up at that nickname but he’s frowning, clearly upset with what happened. The boy tells him it’s alright and he helps the man to get up. Róisín whines once more and Jack goes to her, showing her that Anti is okay. The artist huffs and takes her in his arms, hugging her. Hopefully the baby will calm him down and the Irishman steals a chaste kiss, before the tailor shows up again. They talk in italian some more and Jack just watches, staying close and wrapping his fingers around Anti’s arm. There are gloves displayed on a counter but he thinks it’ll be better to see it another time. He really doesn’t pay attention to what the artist says, just staring at his lips moving and liking how he sounds. Jack tigthens his hold, knowing the man still looks tired after that, but everything sorts it out. They’ll work on his suit and it’ll be ready in no time.

 

“Let’s go home,” the boy says once they leave store. “We still haven’t been lucky when going out, huh?”

 

“You wanted to buy books.”

 

“I have the internet for now. You’re tired. It’s okay, Anti.”

 

The man with the green eyes frowns, murmuring something about the internet not being reliable, and Jack calls him an old man. He holds Anti’s hand while entering the car and the drive is quiet again. They keep holding hands until they’re back at the house and the artist relaxes, content to be there. Jack tells him to lie down in bed while he takes Róisín to his own bedroom. She’s all sleepy, since they woke up so early, so he removes her beanie and jacket before placing her in the crib. He’s tired too but he purses his lips while looking at his bed, turning around to see the hallway through his door. Jack replays that early memory of Anti paralyzed by fear, trying not to break down in public, and he felt so worried. Goddamn. That silver-haired man is disgusting. He sighs and walks into the hallway, going to the man’s bedroom. He knocks first and Anti murmurs for him to come in.

 

The freckled man is lying down in his bed, looking like a kid all grumpy, and Jack huffs while going towards him. Anti raises a arm in the air and the boy entwine their fingers, moving to be on top of him. The mattress shift with their weight and the man sighs, resting on his pillows, and Jack likes how his hair is spread over it. He caresses his locks, both looking at each other, and Anti runs his hands down to his thighs. They whisper and the boy thanks him for that morning, despite of how it ended. He had a good time and he was really happy that the man wanted to go out. Anti hums, murmuring something about having flashbacks when seeing that lighter. The Irishman grimaces and leans down to peck his lips, saying he’s sorry.

 

“I didn't want you to do anything today,” Anti mutters.

 

“Oh, really?” Jack smiles. “Can I still have that, sir? A day off? Isn’t that favoritism?”

 

The copper-haired man rolls his eyes but the boy laughs, capturing their lips into a kiss. They sigh and tilt their heads, tasting each other, and Jack likes how right it feels. Anti’s scar brush against his mouth and he bites the man’s bottom lip, listening a groan. The freckled man suddenly sits up, pushing him around until he’s the one on top, and Jack moans when he kisses harsher. His head falls down onto the pillow and Anti’s warm above him, tongues brushing. The artist’s hands roll up his shirt, touching a nipple, and the Irishman arches his back with a pant. He does the same with Anti, feeling his skin under his outfit, and he roams his hands through the man’s back. Their lips are wet, making a sound in the room, and Jack’s heart beats like a drum. God, this is so good. It feels like he’s dreaming, really, but the freckled man brings him back to reality when biting down his neck.

 

They makeout in bed, panting and moaning under their breaths, and sometimes they will move their hips but no one goes further than that. It’s a slow torture but Jack finds himself smiling between kisses. Anti lies down with all his weight on top of the boy and it’s rather comfortable. They hug each other and peck their lips, catching their breaths, and the freckled man’s hair is like a curtain around him. The Irishman traces his scar down to his lips and Anti closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. How weird and yet beautiful it is to have him like that. It never fails to amaze him. Jack sighs, both all relaxed in the soft bed, and they brush their lips. The boy blinks with glassy eyes, wanting to keep this feeling close to his heart.

 

“Can I stay here?” he whispers.

 

“Stay,” Anti replies, voice low and deep. It does things to Jack’s heart and that word seems to carry a lot more meanings. “Stay with me.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me if there's any italian out there, I did my best to search the correct way of saying those things so I hope I'm not that wrong hahaha.
> 
> Fanart:  
> [trashcansasha](https://trashcansasha.tumblr.com/post/180239972674/the-blueberry-muffin-thief-mine-and-plutonic-5) ❤  
> 


	12. Chapter 12

They end up falling asleep for a couple of hours and Jack wakes up with his arm over the man’s chest, lying down on his stomach. He takes a deep breath, snuggling closer, and he blinks at Anti. The man’s expression is soft, long eyelashes against freckled skin, and Jack caresses the back of his neck with his fingers. The ginger-haired man stirs himself awake, humming, and the Irishman whispers he should make something for them to eat. Anti grumbles and buries his face in the crook of the boy’s neck, pulling him closer in a tight embrace. Jack huffs a laugh and the man looks up at him with the most grumpiest face ever. God, the boy can’t handle him. Anti’s so endearing, it makes his heart clench.

 

“Mm.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean? I don’t speak the grumpy language,” Jack whispers. “Do you want me to bring Ró here?”

 

“Mm,” Anti nods and the boy snorts.

 

Jack says that the freckled man needs to let him go first and he does it with a groan. The brown-haired man gets out of bed, stretching, and he walks towards his bedroom. Róisín is awake when he gets there and he smiles while picking her up. Jack asks how she’s doing but she just looks around, clinging onto him. He brings her bunny and pacifier, and his footsteps barely make a sound in the mansion. Anti all but hugs Róisín when he’s back in bed and she’s calm in his arms. Jack takes out his cell phone and snaps a picture before the man can’t stop him, chuckling when Anti glares at him. He stares at the screen, seeing the artist with his eyes closed, baby clinging onto him, and they both have sleepy faces. Jack smiles, saying it looks great, and he browsers on his cell phone about three months babies. He reads some things out loud to Anti and it feels so normal to just do this. To be in bed with him, baby between them.

 

“I need to start reading to her,” Jack mumbles, scrolling through texts. “Massaging her would be nice, to have that skin to skin contact… God, there’s a lot going on with a baby, isn’t it?”

 

“Relax,” Anti whispers, practically melting in bed and looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “You’re doing fine. She’s fine.”

 

To hear that man saying that to him is quite something. Jack locks his gaze with his, taking a deep breath, and he nods. Yeah. She is fine. He just wants to do things right, to make sure she has everything she needs. It’s so overwhelming sometimes. He’s still trying to get used to the fact that he’s going to take care of her all his life, that he’s a father. Jack can’t thank Robin enough for mentioning this job. Anti is like a light in this darkness, in this weird mess. It made him not allow that grief to settle down too heavy, to not let it consume him like before. It’s still very much there and he thinks it’ll never really leave, but it’s bearable. Jack’s certain he wouldn’t be able to do anything alone. Having the artist and Róisín to focus on has been his priority and he wants to keep it that way.

 

They stay a little longer in bed but their stomachs growl at some point, and the baby seems to want food as well. Anti still doesn’t want Jack to do anything but they have to eat. The Irishman murmurs he could just make them some pasta and the man could help him bake something again. He’s thinking of cookies and Anti nods, both getting up. The artist will change Róisín while Jack goes downstairs, so he won’t have to worry about the oven. The Irishman glances at that long blanket at the stairs landing, wondering if one day he’ll be able to remove that damn thing, and he walks into the kitchen. Jack makes farfalle and he snorts to himself, thinking that must be the only italian word he knows. Anti peeks his head through the kitchen door, doing the same with Róisín, and the boy laughs at the sight. He says he’s almost done, adding the red sauce on their plates, and the freckled man walks in with her.

 

She’s wearing a simple blue onesie right now, all fresh and clean, and Jack thanks him for that. Anti brought her basket and bunny, but he feeds her first. The Irishman takes some bites of his own food, both sitting at the counter, and they chat for a bit. It feels homey and this is becoming a routine for them. Jack asks for some words in italian and Anti huffs. He calls the baby _rosa_ and the brown-haired man could honestly listen to him all day, even if he doesn’t understand anything. That earns the artist a chuckle, and it’s the _shortest_ one ever, low and barely there. It still makes Jack’s heart flutters. The copper-haired man tucks some strands of ginger hair behind his ear and the boy just knows that he’s _gone._ God. He didn’t think he’d ever feel any of this.

 

“Will we have to dance?” Jack asks. “At the party? Because I’ll probably embarrass myself.”

 

“It’s not that hard.”

 

Anti places Róisín back in her basket and he gets up, making a motion with his chin as if calling the boy. Jack swallows when the man takes his hand, bringing him closer, and he lets out a nervous laugh while asking what he’s doing. The freckled man places one of the boy’s arms around his waist, holding the other, and they stand close. The brown-haired man knits his eyebrows in confusion but smiles, realizing Anti is showing him how to dance. He murmurs what they have to do, correcting Jack’s pose, and he gently sways them. He chuckles when the artist spins him before returning to their position, humming. The Irishman looks down at their bare feet, frowning and trying to follow without music, but Anti pushes his chin up with his fingers to call him out.

 

“Look at me,” he whispers, swaying left and right. One, two, three. One, two three. “Just focus on me.”

 

“I can do that. I have no problem with that,” Jack shakes his head, blue locked on green. He chuckles again, turning his face at the baby. “Ró, do you see that? I’m learning how to dance!”

 

Anti hums and he moves his hands to just wrap around the Irishman’s waist, chest-to-chest, and he slowly pushes them backwards. Jack’s back rests against the fridge and he asks if that’s part of the dance with a knowing look. The artist smirks, scar moving on his face, and he leans down for a kiss. The brown-haired man caresses his hair and their tongues brush, grinning and moaning into their mouths. Anti touches his thighs, pulling them up, and Jack gasps while locking them around his hips. Jesus fucking christ, it feels wonderful being pinned by this man. The boy’s heart races and he lets out warm puffs of air between kisses, stomach tensing up when Anti’s hand goes down between his legs. Jack makes an embarrassed, keen sound in surprise, but the artist just grins more while planting hickeys on his neck. The Irishman is holding onto him for dear life, panting, and the man’s fingers slide under his jeans.

 

Jack mewls into his ear, thrusting forward, and Anti palms him through his boxer briefs. He’s being pressed against the fridge, nowhere to go, and that turns him on so much. The brown-haired man closes his eyes, melting in his arms, and he moans louder at a stronger bite. Anti licks him there, moving his hand, and Jack gasps. He whispers the man’s name and there’s a growl in the air. The artist goes up to his mouth and they sigh, beards scratching. Jack’s _hard,_ cock throbbing in his pants, and there’s a sweet burn below his navel. He curls his toes, moving more, and he swears under his breath. The Irishman wraps a hand around Anti’s wrist, urging him to keep going, and he kisses the man’s neck. Everything is _so_ good, so perfect, and he’s almost getting there when there’s a goddamn voice in the kitchen.

 

“Why do I always have to walk into this?”

 

Andreas scares the shit out of him and Jack half gasps, half sobs. Anti groans so loud, biting the boy’s neck hard one last time before putting him down. He immediately turns around with a glare, grabbing a kitchen knife, and he throws it at this brother but hits the cupboard behind him. Jack’s eyebrows go up, covering his mouth in surprise, and his heart skips a beat. Jesus! Andreas doesn’t even flinch, as if that’s not the first time they do that, and he just crosses his arms over his chest with a nonchalant face. The freckled man’s nostrils flare. They’re both flushed, caught in the act, and Jack really, _really_ wants to hide after this. God. Anti seems to read his mind, moving so his back is in front of him, and he scowls at his brother.

 

“What the fuck, An?!”

 

“I didn’t mean to! I swear!” Andreas raises his hands in the air and he’s wearing a dark red shirt under a leather jacket. “I just walked in to grab something to eat and, well….”

 

“That’s the problem! You _keep_ walking in! This is _my_ house!”

 

“Anti, calm down,” Jack whispers, tugging on his shirt. “You’ll upset the baby…”

 

The copper-haired man takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment, and his body relaxes. He unclenches his hands and Andreas takes out the knife off the cupboard, throwing it back at Anti. Jack’s heart stops for a second and he groans, telling them to stop doing that. It’s nerve-wracking! Fuck! Okay. He drags a hand over his face and calms down his heart, sighing. Andreas pouts at his brother, making a hurtful expression, and the freckled man grunts while rolling his eyes. He asks what he wants and the dark-haired man beams, saying he came there for sweets. Jack adjusts his pants, grimacing at his soften cock, and he tries focusing back in reality. Right. He murmurs the word cookies and Andreas is sold. Anti seems really upset that they were interrupted, looking like a kicked puppy, and that makes the boy snorts. He cups the man’s face to steal a kiss, lips making a sound, and he whispers that it’s okay.

 

Jack leans against the counter, telling Anti to wash his hands and take some ingredients for them while the boy catches his breath. Andreas wiggles his eyebrows at his brother and Anti flips him the bird. The Irishman clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, and Róisín tries moving her head to look at the dark-haired man. He smiles, asking if he can hold her, and Jack nods, saying for him to go ahead. She does frown a little bit, not used to him that much yet, but Andreas is gentle. The Irishman busies himself with guiding Anti, both calm now, and the artist ties his hair up in a bun. It’s the freckled man that does everything this time. Well, most of it. Jack will be the one to take care of the oven but Anti adds the ingredients in a bowl while the boy narrates, and he breaks pieces of chocolate bars. Andreas and Anti steal some, and Róisín keeps frowning at him in his arms.

 

“Ah, c’mon now! Don’t be like Mr. Grump McFrowny here, princess. I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” the dark-haired man coos, rocking her. “C’mon, I know I am!”

 

“Don’t shake her too much, she just ate,” the copper-haired man murmurs.

 

Róisín giggles when he sways left and right, cupping her head to be careful, and he lets out a victorious sound. Jack snorts, watching them, and he wraps an arm around Anti’s waist just because. The artist is focused on mixing the ingredients, his hands shaking slightly, and the Irishman adds the chocolate pieces. Andreas keeps talking to the baby and the brown-haired man opens his mouth to speak to him, but Róisín makes a face. She pukes a little and the man yelps, holding her with his arms stretched as far as possible, and Jack holds back a laugh while going to him. Andreas starts apologizing over and over, but the Irishman tells him it’s alright, that this happens. It’s nothing serious. He grabs a baby tissue to clean her mouth and the younger brother glances at Anti, only to sigh.

 

“You’re doing that thing again, you know that?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the copper-haired man mutters, not even looking at him.

 

“You’re being overly protective,” Andreas continues. “Like you did to me.”

 

Anti stops everything and places his hands on the counter, staring back at him with a glare. Jack senses a shift in the air and that’s not good. That’s not good at all. They are both looking at each other and the Irishman has the baby in his arms, in the middle of everything. Anti says that that’s why he let Andreas go and do whatever the hell he wanted, but the younger brother disagrees. He says the copper-haired man excluded himself from everything, thinking he was betrayed for being left alone. It feels weird. Jack feels weird. Like he shouldn’t be listening to these things. The Irishman tries interrupting when their voices get louder in the kitchen and Andreas is on the verge of tears. There’s just suddenly so many things going on with them and Jack knows how siblings are. They’re pointing at each other, glaring, and Róisín whimpers.

 

“Alright, that’s enough!” Jack calls them out. “Stop it, both of you! Anti, go upstairs!” The artist groans, clenching his jaw, but he steps back. The Irishman gives him Róisín and they exchange a look. Jack sighs. “Promise me you won’t do anything to yourself.”

 

Anti knits his eyebrows and it looks like he wants to pout. “I promise,” he whispers and walks out of the kitchen.

 

The brown-haired man places a hand over his forehead, turning back to Andreas, and the man looks so torn. Jack turns on the oven before walking up to him, sighing and asking if he’s okay. The man’s face scrunches up in emotion and he pulls the Irishman for a hug. The boy awkwardly stands there in the middle of the kitchen, with Andreas burying his face in the crook of his neck, and he pats his back. Jack can’t believe that he felt intimidated by this man when he first saw him. He’s even taller than Anti and yet, his personality seems to be the opposite. Andreas sniffs and the Irishman hugs him back, whispering that he has so many children to take care of now. The man chuckles, shoulders shaking, and he pulls back while rubbing his eyes. Jack smiles, saying that Anti is stubborn like that and probably thought he was doing the right thing. Andreas loves him, he really does. It’s just that sometimes it was overwhelming but he didn’t want Anti to simply vanish for a year.

 

“I know he means well, he always did,” the young man murmurs. “He didn’t say sorry yet though… I wanted to come here to see him, make sure that he was fine, but he keeps avoiding the issue. I just want my brother back.”

 

Jack purses his lips, thinking about this. “How about you help me with these cookies? I can call him later. You guys need to talk. This is something between you two.”

 

Andreas tugs on his septum piercing and nods, taking off his leather jacket, and he apologizes for killing Jack’s boner. The Irishman burst into laughter, lightly punching his shoulder, and they talk for a bit. The dark-haired man goes back to his cheerful self and snarky comments, and Jack makes sure to say he found Mr. Grump McFrowny the best nickname so far. It’s only when the cookies are in the oven that he tells Andreas to go to the living room and he walks upstairs, heading to Anti’s bedroom. He frowns though, not seeing the man there, and he calls for him around the house. He didn’t leave, right? Jack purses his lips and goes to his own room, only to open the door and see the artist there in his bed. Anti is cuddling with Róisín under the covers and the boy snorts, going to him.

 

“Hey…” he says, touching the man’s shoulder to make him turn around. The freckled man blinks at him, humming. “Remember when I told you that it was best to be honest? To the people that you love, that you care about?” He brushes strands of copper hair away from Anti’s face, speaking low and slow. “Andreas needs you. Be honest with him. Both of you need to talk. A _real_ talk. No fighting, no throwing knives at each other.”

 

“I’m… I’m not good at this.”

 

“Listen to him, love. You have to try. He’s your brother.”

 

The artist sighs, knitting his eyebrows, but he sits up. He kisses Jack before leaving and the Irishman shakes his head at Róisín, whispering that these brothers are quite something. He goes downstairs after putting the baby in her crib, but he gives them privacy. They’re both sitting on the couch, facing each other, and Anti looks at him from across the lobby. Jack makes a motion with his hand as if saying _Go ahead_ and the man purses his lips, turning back to Andreas. They speak but the boy doesn’t eavesdrop, getting back into the kitchen and checking their cookies. He takes them out, letting them cool off by the counter, and he opens the fridge to grab himself a beer. Jack hasn’t been drinking at all for the past few months, too focused on the baby, but today has been really weird. One beer will do no harm. He uncaps it and sips from it, leaning back while rubbing his temple.

 

It’s only when he’s halfway through the bottle that he hears Andreas calling for him, so he peeks through the kitchen door to see the young man hugging Anti with a huge smile. The ginger-haired man is glaring so hard, it’s fucking hilarious, but he pats Andreas’ back. Jack puts his drink down and takes the cookies, walking up to them and offering some. The dark-haired man is smiling but his face is smeared by tears. The Irishman ruffles his hair and asks if everything is alright. They both nod and speak at the same time, making the boy huff. Anti sends him a look, that small grin on his face, and Jack returns the gesture. Andreas is shoving a second cookie up his mouth, voice muffled when he calls them disgusting again.

 

When the sun goes down, Andreas says goodbye but he doesn’t leave without crushing Anti into another hug. Jack lets him take some cookies with him and he sighs when they’re alone. The brown-haired man places a hand on his forehead and the artist also looks really tired, but he bumps his nose on Jack’s cheek. The boy huffs and tells him to get some rest. Anti looks up the stairs for a second, then back at him, pursing his lips.

 

“I want to stay with you this time.”

 

“Uh,” Jack says. “My room? You wanna sleep there?”

 

The freckled man nods and the Irishman takes his hand, both heading towards his bedroom, and their shoulders brush. Anti walks in, glancing at the sleeping baby from across the room, and Jack whispers for him to get comfortable. They strip off their clothes, taking off their sweaters, and it shouldn’t be that easy now but it is. It feels different. In a good way. The Irishman is more at ease and he’s glad that Anti talked to his brother. Hopefully things will get better after that. The artist looks around the room shirtless, barefoot as usual, and he brushes his fingers over some notes on a dresser. Jack flushes, stuttering that he kept the man’s messages just because, and Anti murmurs something about getting him another rose for a vase. The boy moves towards him and unties the man’s hair, watching it fall down in beautiful curls, and he smiles. He brushes his fingers there, feeling soft strands of copper, and Anti practically purrs. Once more, Jack can’t believe that they are like this. His heart aches.

 

The brown-haired man guides them towards bed and the artist all but buries his face into a pillow, whispering something about liking the boy’s scent. Jack rests his head against Anti’s chest and takes a deep breath, both wrapping their arms around each other. There’s that homey feeling again. Them, in bed, with Róisín sleeping a few feet away from them. It’s peaceful and his mind is calm. Anti’s the one who falls asleep first but Jack stays awake a little longer, wanting to keep these memories close to his heart. It beats slow against his ribcage and he wants these feelings to last. He wants it. God, he really does. Jack wants to hold onto this thing between them and not let go. The boy hugs him tighter, closing his sapphire eyes, and he slowly relaxes in the man’s arms.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to trashcansasha for coming up with the nickname Mr. Grump McFrowny. It kills me everytime.


	13. Chapter 13

Jack wakes up in the middle of the night feeling warm and he takes a deep breath, humming while burying his face into a pillow. He knits his eyebrows when an arm goes over his stomach and there’s a kiss between his shoulder blades. Anti’s body is pressed against his back and Jack lets out a weak moan, feeling the man’s erection brushing against his ass cheeks. The freckled man lightly bites his neck, pulling him closer, and his hand caresses the boy’s happy trail under his shirt. The brown-haired man blinks, trying to shake his sleep away, and he slowly turns his face over his shoulder. Anti’s looking at him through half-lidded eyes as well and they lean more for a lazy kiss in the dark. Jack sighs into their mouths and the artist’s hand touches the hem of his boxer briefs, tugging on it.

 

The Irishman grabs Anti’s wrist and coaxes him to keep going. Their lips make a sound and Jack’s cock twitches with anticipation. They’ve been teasing each other for a while now and yesterday was _so_ good, but they were interrupted again. Fuck. He’s all sleepy and his mouth falls open when Anti slides down his fingers, wrapping around his cock. His breathing picks up and he squirms under the covers, moaning when the freckled man ruts against him. The copper-haired man kisses his neck and shoulder, humming and stroking the boy. Jack gasps, pressing himself harder to feel the man’s cock, and Anti groans. The boy moves his hips, throwing his head back, and he moans. The man rubs his thumb on the underside of Jack’s erection and he shivers, turning around and taking the artist’s hand off him for a second.

 

He sits on top of Anti, thighs on each side, and they shift under the covers to get more comfortable. Jack pulls the man’s sweatpants just enough to take his hard cock and he wishes he could see them better. It’s all a warm blur but it’s so good. The Irishman leans down and he thrusts forward, both slowly stroking each other, and they kiss. He pants and Anti pushes his legs up, cupping the boy’s ass cheeks and squeezing them. Jack’s eyes flutter and he buries his face in the crook of the artist’s neck, mewling and gasping between thrusts. He’s leaking precum and his cock is throbbing, begging for release. Jesus. Anti grunts, planting more hickeys on his neck, and Jack feels a wave of pleasure when the man slides a finger down his asshole just to tease.

 

“A-Ah, Anti…” the brown-haired man moans under his breath, mouth wide open down to the pillow. He closes his glassy eyes and they jerk faster, harder. “Fuck...”

 

Anti buckles his hips up and their cocks brush more, making them mewl. Jack’s toes curl and his balls tighten, breathing breaking into short gasps in the air, and the freckled man grunts louder. The Irishman places a hand over Anti’s left shoulder, feeling his marred skin, and he moves to look down at him. Despite the dark room, he can make out the copper-haired man face. That beautiful silhouette and shiny eyes. He arches his back, neck exposed, and Jack tugs lightly on the man’s hair. They pant into their mouths and the mattress shifts under their weight, both with that sweet burn below their navels. Anti knits his eyebrows, whispering that he’s close, and the Irishman touches him until he’s whimpering and throwing his head back. Jack feels him cum more than anything, cock pulsing in his hand, and it doesn’t take too long for him to follow. They both gasp and spasm in bed, hips jerking with waves of pleasure.

 

Jack jizzes hard onto their stomachs and it trickles down to their fingers. His heart is beating a mile a minute and his eyes roll back for a moment, still feeling his orgasm running through him. Anti pulls him for a harsh kiss, split tongue sliding into his mouth, and Jack moans. Their beards brush and they keep moving a couple of times, riding that sweet feeling. Ah, god. The Irishman’s heart flutters and he’s just so _content_. There’s so much tenderness, soft touches afterwards that makes him all jello. He smiles when their kisses turn sloppy, just pecking and catching their breaths, and Anti caresses his back. Jack licks his fingers, tasting each other, and the copper-haired man growls. He turns them around, being on top now, and the boy giggles while hugging him. He locks his legs around Anti’s waist and they just rest for a moment, breathing in.

 

The freckled man kisses his cheek, whispering he’ll be right back, and Jack puts a hand over his heart when he leaves to the bathroom. Anti cleans them with a damp cloth and the boy shivers under his touch, too sensitive right now. He all but pulls the man back in bed, smiling, and they’re both feeling sleepy all over again. The ginger-haired man hugs him from behind and Jack’s so safe, so warm. It’s not that difficult to melt in bed and he caresses the man’s arms, kissing his knuckles before closing his eyes. Anti bumps his nose on the back of his neck, humming, and they take a deep breath before falling asleep. Jack has shapeless dreams, resting too heavy to grasp a sense of anything, and it’s only the soft morning light that slowly stirs him awake.

 

He’s lying on his back, an arm hanging out of bed, and Anti’s on his stomach. The man’s spread all over the mattress, snoring softly, and Jack cleans his eyes before stretching with a groan. He sits up, placing two fingers between his eyebrows, and he remembers last night. The Irishman flushes and he gets up quietly to go to the bathroom, not wanting to wake Anti up. He turns on the artificial lights and he sees all the hickeys on his neck with a sigh. He brushes his teeth and empties his bladder, staring at these marks while scratching his belly. Jack walks out to look at Róisín, checking on her, and she’s already awake. He picks her up with a grin, whispering good morning to her, and he cleans her eyes. The Irishman looks over his shoulder to make sure Anti is still asleep and he changes Róisín as quietly as he can, shushing her between chuckles. There are arms around his waist soon after, though, and he gasps.

 

“Jesus, Anti!” Jack huffs. “I told you not to do that again.”

 

“Mornin’…”

 

“Good morning, big boy,” he continues and Anti tigthens his hold, pressing his cheek against Jack’s shoulder blades. “Why don’t you go wash your face and brush your teeth? I’ll make us something to eat.”

 

The freckled man grunts, all groggy from sleep, and he has bed hair. Jack snorts and finishes changing the baby, adjusting her new diaper. When he walks downstairs with her, he stops in front of that long red blanket, and he knits his eyebrows. The Irishman looks at the baby and then back at that hallway, knowing Anti’s there, and he raises a hand in the air. Jack purses his lips but pulls the fabric down to the floor, cupping Róisín’s head when there’s dust. He blinks, seeing Anti in a beautiful painting, and his face scrunches up in emotion. It’s him, before the fire. The freckled man has short hair, curls falling over his forehead, and he’s sitting on an armchair with his legs crossed. Andreas is standing behind him, a hand on his older brother’s shoulder, and they’re both wearing black suits. A few hints of green and yellow on each one. The dark-haired man doesn’t have a choker in that portrait, so both of their neck scars are exposed. White thin lines of paint. Jack can’t stop looking at Anti’s green eyes, no burn marks on his left side, and he looks so young.

 

The floor creaks and the Irishman looks at his left, seeing the copper-haired man standing a few feet away. Anti purses his lips, walking up to him, and he’s still shirtless. The boy’s eyes fall down to his chest and he moves a hand up to the man’s face, caressing him there before one of them say a word. The freckled man brushes his knuckles against Róisín’s cheek and she looks up at him, babbling and wanting his hold. Jack huffs and he gives her to him, watching them. Anti scrunches up his nose when she bats her little hand on his mouth and chin, and he take her arm to kiss her there. The Irishman looks back at that portrait and the artist tenses up, sighing and glaring at the floor.

 

“You’re pretty handsome up there,” Jack whispers and Anti winces, not daring to look up. He just tigthens his hold around the baby. “Just like I find you now.”

 

The ginger-haired man knits his eyebrows. “You don’t have to lie.”

 

“I’m not... Look at me.” Anti shuffles on his feet but finally locks their gaze, green meeting blue. Jack looks at his mismatched eyes and long scar, that pinkish skin and copper hair. “You’re gorgeous.”

 

The brown-haired man smiles when Anti ducks his head, a hint of a blush on his cheeks, and he leans closer for a chaste kiss. The freckled man sighs and adds more pressure, but Róisín calls back their attention. Jack breaks the kiss with a grin and they walk down the stairs, wanting to grab something to eat. It feels like the boy can really _touch_ him now, after last night. It’s odd but it’s true. As if he’s allowed to hold Anti’s hand anytime now or just wrap an arm around his waist. They steal kisses whenever they can while the boy cooks, hands brushing here and there. The copper-haired man interrupts him at some point, lifting him up to be on the counter, and Jack giggles between kisses. He wraps his legs around the man, caressing his hair, and they makeout in the kitchen. Their wet lips make a sound and the Irishman’s heart flutters, sighing when Anti’s hands roam through his back. Jack kisses them, feeling them shake slightly in his own hold, and he brushes his lips against marred skin.

 

He almost burns their pancakes, though, and he has to kick Anti out of the kitchen between laughter. The freckled man goes to feed Róisín in the living room and that gives Jack some time to calm down. He clears his throat, setting up a tray with their food, and he knits his eyebrows. Okay. The brown-haired man is so goddamn happy with this. He can’t deny it. It’s the best thing that’s happened to him in a long, long time and he desperately wants to hold onto that. But a thought crosses his mind again, a small whisper. What is he now? Wouldn’t it be weird if he was still receiving money from Anti? Should he get another job? They haven’t talked about any of this. Jack scratches the back of his head, choosing to push those questions away. He knows he can’t keep pretending that they aren’t there, that eventually he’ll have to figure that out. But, goddamnit, he wants to enjoy this so bad.

 

They have breakfast and Jack plays a bit with the baby, hiding his face and grinning at her. He talks to her and tries lying the baby on her tummy. Róisín doesn’t seem bothered by it, just curious, but the Irishman does the same thing to call her attention. Anti watches it all, lying on the couch, hand against his cheek, and it’s such a good feeling. He joins the boy at some point, just lying down on the floor and picking her up. She all but laughs, trying to touch the freckled man’s face, and Jack snaps more pictures from his cell phone. Anti’s always caught off guard in those but the Irishman should start catching these moments of Róisín more. That’s what he tells himself, at least. He smiles so much, his cheeks hurt, and the artist murmurs nicknames in italian at her.

 

Jack perks up at that, remembering something, and he asks if it’d be alright if he left the house for a moment. He wants to buy some books for Róisín, nothing that would take too long, and Anti hums but nods once. The Irishman kisses his cheek before getting up, leaving them to go shower and get dressed properly. He calls Tyler and the ginger-haired man waves the baby’s hand as a goodbye when Jack grabs his jacket before leaving. He covers his neck with that grey scarf and he snorts. When he enters the car, he greets the man and closes the door. The Irishman takes his cell phone out of his pocket, unlocking it to read some messages from Robin, and he scrolls through his pictures while the chauffeur takes him to a bookstore. His thumb hovers over that first one he took of Anti and Róisín, both in bed and just hugging. Jack bites his bottom lip and sets that as his background image. It also just hits him that tomorrow will be Halloween. He just completely forgot about what day it was, too focused on these two.

 

With that in mind, Jack stops to buy some candies and ingredients for another peach pie, knowing that the man will like it. He texts Robin, asking if he could come over tomorrow even though it’s a last minute thing. The Irishman will also call Tucker and Ethan but, it’s only when he’s at a market with a shopping cart half full, that he realizes he’s doing all of that without consulting Anti first. He scrolls through phone numbers, wondering if the artist will pick up. Usually the man doesn’t like accepting calls, he’s not very attached to these things and it rather makes him anxious. Jack tries, nonetheless, and his fingers fidget over the cart’s handle. After a couple of long beeps, Anti’s voice reaches his ear and he holds back a smile.

 

“Hey,” Jack says. “Uh, quick question. Would it be alright if a mini party happened tomorrow night? I sort of called the guys already because I just remembered is Halloween so…”

 

It takes a moment for the freckled man to reply and the boy shuffles on his feet, looking at papers decoration in the shape of pumpkins.

 

_“Do whatever you want.”_

 

“That’s not what I’m asking, Anti. I want to know if _you_ would be alright.”

 

Anti hums. _“I’m fine with it… Andreas is here. He’s waving to say hello.”_

 

Jack hears the dark-haired man shout something about bringing the best candies and he snorts. The Irishman makes sure that he will, so they end the call, and he looks down at that picture with a smile before unlocking his cell phone again. Jack goes back to the car with a bunch of bags, but Tyler helps him out, and the brown-haired man even asks if he would like to join them but he has other plans. He appreciates the invitation, though. Jack pauses a bit when the chauffeur asks if he should take him home and the boy’s lips part, thinking.

 

“Do you remember that tailor’s shop?” the Irishman asks instead and Tyler nods. “Could you take me there? I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jack comes back after a few hours and he sees Anti with Andreas by the couch. He asks them to help him with the groceries and the freckled man murmurs he took longer than he said he would. The younger brother smacks the artist on the back of his head, telling him not to control Jack’s life, and the boy huffs a smile when Anti practically hisses. They help him put everything in the cupboards and fridge, and the Irishman shows them some decorations he bought. Andreas’ eyes shine and he asks if he can come over, which it’s obviously an _Yes_. Jack notices his _Zelda_ t-shirt under his jacket and he compliments that, immediately getting into a conversation about video games. Anti just looks at them, back and forth, and he whispers that he understands nothing. Andreas calls him an old man and the Irishman covers his mouth to hide his smile.

 

They come back to the living room and Róisín is asleep in her baby swing, wearing that yellow onesie Anti got for her. Andreas asks if Anti still has his old stuff, remembering he had a playstation somewhere, and the freckled man nods. Jack laughs when the man runs upstairs to find it and the copper-haired man pulls him to sit down on the couch with him, between his legs. Anti wraps his arms around his waist and the boy rests his head against his chest, both lightly caressing their hands. Jack whispers about the books he bought and that he wants to start reading to Róisín tonight, and the artist hums. Anti seems so calm, always wanting to touch him. It makes his heart clench.

 

Andreas comes back, rolling his eyes but not daring to ask if something happened between them, and he just sets up the playstation. When he removes his jacket to join them on the couch, Jack perks up at the tattoos on his arms and he compliments them. He eyes a skull on the kid’s left arm and Andreas gets excited, lifting his shirt up to show more of them. Anti calls him out and the boy just laughs, liking a barcode on his hip. When he asks what it means, the younger brother just winks, saying _What’s the fun in that?_ instead of explaining. They pass some time playing _Mario Kart_ and they talk more about what types of video games they like. It’s a nice moment, the three of them just relaxing and bonding. Andreas is a sweet boy, giddy whenever he mentions something about graphics and how stuff work. Anti mostly stays quiet, hugging Jack.

 

They all take a break to eat and the Irishman takes care of Róisín. The artist leaves to paint a little more, wanting some time alone, and Andreas spends pretty much all day there. Jack even asks if he wouldn’t like to stay for the night but he just shakes his head, saying everything is fine. Either way, the offer still stands anytime. He has his own bedroom, afterall. The dark-haired man glances at that painting at the stairs landing a couple of times, and he’s impressed that Anti didn’t throw a fuss over Jack pulling that blanket. It was like that for a long time, after the younger brother left that house. The Irishman purses his lips, thinking about it. Anti seems to hold so much pain in his heart, frustration from the past. It feels like he blames himself for so many things. He sighs, knowing how difficult that can be.

 

When night comes, Andreas hugs him goodbye and Jack picks up Róisín before going towards the workshop. The stairs creak when he walks and the smell of paint is in the air. The copper-haired man is holding a brush in the middle of the room, painting a new piece, and it’s the first time the boy actually catches him working. The Irishman calls him softly and Anti turns around, blinking at him. He says it’s time to shower and lie down, and the man grunts while rubbing his eye. Jack sees paint on his forehead and cheek, hands completely smeared by it, and he shakes his head. A messy painter. When the freckled man still doesn’t move from his place, the boy sighs but thinks of something that will help.

 

“You’re not gonna read to Ró with your hands like that.”

 

Anti grunts again, murmuring he’ll just clean his brushes but that he’ll be right up. Jack nods and goes to his bedroom, trying to ignore that little thought kissing his mind again. It seems like the artist will stay with him a second time and it shouldn’t feel normal, but it is. God. This is getting more complicated each time. He sits down in bed with the baby and he looks through the books he bought. It’s mostly colorful pictures and textures in between, so she can feel it and hear the sounds. Anti shows up after a while, with a clean face and hands, and he joins them in bed. The mattress shifts with their weight and he takes Róisín, placing her on his lap so they can see the book Jack chose for them. The artist sighs, frowning at the bunny cover, and the Irishman snorts. He once again snaps a picture of Róisín first book, even though she won’t understand anything, and Anti opens it. Jack moves closer, both being part of this.

 

“Tickle tickle, furry mouse… Dozing, dreaming in his house,” the freckled man reads and he frowns harder. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

 

“This is incredible,” Jack laughs. “Please, continue.”

 

They make Róisín touch the soft fur of every page and they point out things at her. She just watches, a bit confused but intrigued, and Anti’s hoarse voice fills the air. Jack swallows, thinking that image is so goddamn domestic. They keep having these moments, don’t they? The Irishman rests his head against the man’s shoulder, listening to him, and he rubs his thumb on Anti’s forearm every now and then. How crazy and yet wonderful this is, though. He thinks of Megan and how he wishes to tell her about her daughter. That she’s doing fine. That he’s trying his best. The corners of Jack’s lips turn into a small smile, humming, and he just relaxes. He looks up at Anti, peeking through his copper hair, and he’s just so beautiful. The brown-haired man caresses Róisín’s hair and he keeps this moment close to his aching heart.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, finally some cummies!! Yall can breathe a little now hahaha!


	14. Chapter 14

Jack places the pumpkin decorations over the fireplace, standing on his tippy toes, and his tongue is poking out of his mouth in concentration. They just had lunch and the Irishman took care of the garden a while ago, mostly picking up all the fallen leaves and checking on the roses. Anti left to paint some more and Jack’s in the living room with the baby. She’s in her baby swing, wearing an orange dress for today, and she’s shaking her bunny every now and then. Jack hums, taking a step back to look at what he’s doing. There are fake candles over the coffee table, orange and purple ones, and a couple of bowls that he’ll later fill with candies. He looks at Róisín, pointing at the papers hanging on the walls in the shape of spider webs and little ghosts.

 

“Do you think it should be higher or lower, peanut?” he asks, serious, and she just babbles at him. “God, you’re right. I’ll keep it like that then.”

 

Anti walks in, raising an eyebrow, and Jack smiles at him. He’s wearing a black cardigan and sweatpants but no shirt underneath, which is not surprising by now. The Irishman touches his exposed chest, leaning closer for a kiss, and Anti holds his face to return the gesture. There’s a faint taste of coffee and tea still in their mouths, and their kiss is slow. Jack rubs his thumb on the man’s left hip and the copper-haired man brushes his split tongue against the boy’s lips. When they pull away, Jack stays with his eyes closed for a moment, loving that feeling. The freckled man hums and looks at the decoration, huffing at the fake candles. He says the boy shouldn’t have bothered with these things, that he shouldn’t overwhelm himself.

 

“If you think that’s too much already, I wanna see your face on Christmas,” Jack chuckles but it sort of dies down, both being hit with a realization.

 

The Irishman just implied that he’ll probably still be there in December and, maybe, even after that. Great. That’s a bit scary to think about, isn’t it? He clears his throat and Anti knits his eyebrows. They take a step back and Jack picks up the baby, showing the man her outfit, and that makes the artist smile a little. Anti caresses her cheek and she just moves her hands, wanting to grab his hair, so the Irishman lets him take the baby. She lets out a sharp laugh when the freckled man attacks her with kisses. He calls her _mio tesoro_ and Jack smiles big. It feels like Anti wants to say something, though, so the boy asks what it is. The artist purses his lips, murmuring something about Andreas turning twenty six today, and Jack’s eyes widen.

 

“What?!” he harshly whispers, not wanting to scare the baby. “And you only thought of saying that to me _now?_ What the fuck, Anti?! He was here yesterday! Why did no one warn me?! Is this just normal for you guys?!”

 

“We don’t really mind these things,” the freckled man answers, using Róisin as a shield, knowing Jack’s upset. “It doesn’t change anything.”

 

“Of course it does! I need to bake a fucking cake! What were you going to do? Pat him on his back and just grunt?” Anti purses his lips and the boy groans, walking out of the living room. “You’re unbelievable!”

 

The Irishman picks up his cell phone, texting Robin to buy a birthday banner. It’s already afternoon, so he won’t have time to leave the house. Anti follows him with the baby, trying to make sure Jack’s not angry at him, but the boy just shakes his head. He’s not _mad,_ but a bit more of honesty would be much appreciated. Fucking hell, he sounds like a fucking wife. The freckled man just knits his eyebrows, rocking Róisín in his arms while Jack gets ready to bake a cake. He’ll also call everyone to show up earlier and they can surprise Andreas. Anti’s frown deepens, asking why he’s doing all of that, and the brown-haired man stops in his tracks, holding a package of flour. Jack runs a hand through his hair, blue eyes locked on green, and he sighs. There’s a brief moment where he’s unsure, wondering if he’s right to act like that around them, but he opens his mouth to answer nonetheless.

 

“Because…” he mutters. “I like him and he’s your brother. It’s my way of showing that I care. Don’t you want him to know that too?”

 

Anti blinks at him but nods, and Jack sends him a small smile. He lets the boy get back to work, watching the baby for him, and the Irishman bakes quietly in the kitchen. What the hell was he thinking when saying those things, though? Sometimes Jack forgets his place, the real reason why he’s there. He can’t afford to upset Anti like that. The man has no obligation to tell him anything. Right. Okay. The brown-haired man makes a peach pie and chocolate cake, having no choice but to stick with a traditional flavor, and Robin arrives an hour later to help him organize their stuff. Jack hugs him tight and the man complains about being crushed, but the Irishman just chuckles. He thanks the Swedish man for bringing the banner and they place it over the fireplace, with the spider webs and ghosts in the background. Jack doesn’t shy away to talk about Anti with his friend, whispering what’s been going on and how close they’ve gotten. Robin mostly hums and replies with innuendos, making the boy blush. Still, he asks how Jack feels about all of that.

 

“Uh,” he mutters, both organizing the birthday hats and plates on the coffee table. He looks around for a moment, but Anti’s nowhere to be seen. “I… I’ve never been happier and I think that’s what scares me the most. We haven’t really… Called each other boyfriend or something, though. I don’t really know what we are. Is that stupid of me? To think that? I feel like such a fucking teen.”

 

Robin chuckles but says that there’s nothing wrong with that. They continue to whisper a few things to each other and Jack tries to keep these worries in the back of his mind, away from his heart. Not right now. Not today. He’ll lie to himself again. The doorbell rings and it’s Tucker with Ethan coming in with some snacks, and the Irishman appreciates the distraction. The blond-haired man brought a camera, saying it would be cool to record Andreas’ reaction and their moments, and Jack smiles at that. The cake and pie are cooling off at the counter so he stops by the laundry room, wanting to get some clean clothes before showering. The Irishman takes everything out of the dryer, putting them in a basket, and his eyes find Anti’s yellow sweater. He purses his lips and touches it, feeling how soft and warm it is now. Jack places it in the basket and walks upstairs, heading to his bedroom. He folds everything with care on his bed and finally enters the bathroom, stripping off his dirty clothes. The hot shower is more than welcome and he washes his hair, sighing.

 

Jack dries himself and wraps a towel around his waist, not forgetting to trim his beard a little bit before stepping out of the bathroom. The Irishman’s blue eyes keep glancing at that yellow sweater over his bed while he gets dressed, putting on boxer briefs and black pants. He ruffles his damp hair and bites his bottom lip, staring back at that garment. He taps his foot on the ground, thinking about it, and he walks up to it. Jack takes the yellow sweater in his hands and puts it over his head to wear it. It’s even bigger on him since the artist is taller, with the long sleeves covering his hands, and he has to tuck some of it under his pants. It’s incredibly soft and, even though he just washed it, there’s that familiar scent over it that screams Anti. It’s something that it’ll never go away. It’s just there and Jack loves it. His heart clenches and he tries to keep himself together, putting on some shoes before leaving the bedroom. The freckled man is right across the hallway, wearing a black turtleneck shirt, and they lock their gaze.

 

Anti’s eyes widen and he immediately runs towards Jack, making the boy step back and heart skip a beat. They both huff at the impact and the copper-haired man wraps his arms around the Irishman’s waist, lifting him from the floor. Jack gasps, not knowing what’s going on, but Anti captures their lips into a harsh kiss. The boy throws his arms over the man’s shoulders and his eyes flutter, moaning into their mouths. Their beards brush and the artist hums, pressing him against a wall. He pecks the Irishman’s face and neck, and Jack laughs while asking what happened. Anti practically purrs and he murmurs something about liking the brown-haired man with his clothes. Jack flushes, damp hair falling over his forehead, and he says he couldn’t resist it. The ginger-haired man tugs on the yellow sweater, pressing their hips together with a low growl, and the boy closes his eyes to just hug him close. He does whisper that they can’t do that right now, that they have a party downstairs, and Anti bites on his earlobe with a grunt. Jack gives him a chaste kiss, calming the man down, and he brushes his fingers against that long scar.

 

Anti puts him down, running a hand through his long ginger locks, and the Irishman clears his throat while adjusting his outfit. They walk downstairs and Jack smiles when seeing Róisín with Robin. Anti keeps tugging on the back of his sweater every now and then, and the brown-haired man holds back a grin. He lightly punches the man, eyeing him so he can behave, but that just makes the freckled man smirk. Ethan practically squeaks at that and Jack flushes when Anti tells him to shut up. They all wait for a little bit for Andreas, lights out, and the artist has an arm around his waist to keep him in place. The Irishman thinks he should wear Anti’s clothes more often, if it makes the man act like that so much. It’s so funny and yet endearing. When they all hear a motorcycle, though, Tucker gets the camera. Robin and Ethan are holding silly strings, and Jack’s already grimacing at the future mess.

 

The front door opens and Andreas walks in, saying hello and complaining about how dark it is. Jack flickers the light switch in the living room.

 

 _“Happy birthday!”_ everyone shouts.

 

There are silly strings flying across the place and there’s confetti in the air. Andreas’ green eyes widen and he stops right at the doorway, looking at everyone with the funniest expression. Tucker yells _Happy Halloween_ , focusing the camera on the boy, and Anti snorts next to Jack. The dark-haired man lets out a strained sound, eyes filling with tears, and Robin sprays a silly string over his hair to make him stop. Andreas yelps and laughs, cupping his cheeks. Just now that Jack notices the small bag in his hand and he’s wearing a t-shirt that says _Bowser’s Castle_ , in the _Jurassic Park_ logo.

 

“Guys…” Andreas says. “What the hell? This is so fucking… Thank you! How d-”

 

“Your brother,” Jack replies, walking up to him and hugging the boy. “Happy birthday, An.”

 

The man chuckles between tears, mumbling he brought horror movies, and everyone comes to hug him as well. Anti is the last one and he playfully hits his brother’s shoulder with a fist, both exchanging a look. Jack watches them break their fake scowl into a small smile and Andreas pulls Anti into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of the man’s neck. The copper-haired man huffs and everyone gives them space, just chatting between each other and spraying more silly strings in the air. The Irishman picks up Róisín from her swing and she’s all curious, blue eyes looking around the decoration. Anti takes a small package from his back pocket and Jack watches him give it to Andreas, whispering to each other. The dark-haired man is all excited, opening the package, but the Irishman frowns upon seeing a pocket knife. Andreas seems really happy, though, and they hug again. Jack snorts, listening to the artist grunt from there.

 

“What was that all about?” the boy asks when Anti goes to him and Róisín babbles at the man.

 

“Mm,” the freckled man murmurs. “I gave him my first knife. He always liked it when we were kids. It was my favorite.”

 

“So you _are_ sentimental.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Jack laughs and they eat peach pie between video games. Andreas brought _Mario Party_ along with the horror movies, so it’s all laughter and frustration in the living room. The brown-haired man mostly watches, taking care of everything, but it feels wonderful. Sometimes he’ll glance at Anti from across the room, just exchanging a knowing grin, and Ethan helps him with the drinks. Robin is talking to Andreas in a corner, both chuckling close, and Jack sends the artist a look. There’s a whole discussion about _Monopoly_ at some point and how they need to play it one day, and Tucker records whenever he can. Jack’s sitting on an armchair, feeding the baby in his arms, and he just looks around with an ache in his heart. It’s been so long since he had that. These moments. He looks down at the yellow sweater and remembers how warm it felt to be kissed by that man. Is this his life now? Could that really be it? Is he asking for too much there?

 

Ethan holds Róisín for him when he leaves for a moment, heading to the kitchen, and he focuses on finishing the cake decoration. He sees Anti walking in out of the corner of his eye and he hums as a greeting, writing letters on top of the cake. The ginger-haired man tugs on his outfit, calling his attention, and Jack sighs while looking up at him. Anti asks if he’s alright, brushing his knuckles against the boy’s cheek. The Irishman holds back a huff, ignoring a pang in his heart, and he just nods. God. He’s falling. He’s falling so hard. Why does this man has to be so kind under that scowl? Jack lifts his head up so the man can kiss his forehead, down to his nose and mouth. The brown-haired man giggles, kissing back and mumbling he’ll mess up the cake. Anti seems to be in a good mood and he steals more chaste kisses before stepping back, letting the boy finish it.

 

They walk out of the kitchen and Jack’s holding a chocolate cake that says _Happy_ ~~_Halloween_~~ _Birthday!_ with no candles. Anti carries a soft smile when everyone starts singing to Andreas and the younger brother is almost crying all over again, eyes red but with a huge grin. Robin is next to him, rubbing his back, and the kid blushes. Róisín is quiet, squirming in Ethan’s arms and just watching, and Jack tells him to pretend to blow a candle and make a wish. Andreas does just that and he wants to claim the first piece of cake immediately. They watch a movie while eating, not wanting to forget that it’s still Halloween, and Anti holds the baby for the rest of the night. They’re all together on the couch, all tangled up, and Tucker is half-asleep. Ethan is snoring half way through the movie, head resting against the blond-haired man’s shoulder, and Robin keeps making snarky comments to Andreas between whispers. Anti notices that and Jack hits his leg when the man growls.

 

As time passes, Róisín falls asleep in the artist’s arms and Jack himself is tired. He did so much today, just now that it’s crashing down on his shoulders. Anti gently gets up with the baby, nudging the boys with his foot, and he calls it a night. Andreas pouts but he thanks everyone, saying how happy he is. Jack pats his cheek and smiles, accepting another hug from the boy. God, they really are his children. Tucker and Ethan help to clean a few things before leaving, though, and Robin lingers with Andreas by the front door. Anti whispers to Jack that the dark-haired man has a boyfriend already, so they’ll need to get ready for a second one. The Irishman knits his eyebrows, taking a second to understand, and he lets out an _Oh_ sound. Jack thinks Robin wouldn’t mind to be part of a relationship like that and the copper-haired man just hums, taking the baby upstairs while the boy says goodbye.

 

“Andreas,” Jack calls him, once his best friend leaves. “Don’t you want to stay? It’s late already. We would-... Anti wouldn’t mind. You have your bedroom.”

 

The dark-haired man puts his hands in his pockets, puffing his locks out of his forehead. “I suppose… I could crash tonight.”

 

They head upstairs, in the quiet mansion, and Andreas can’t thank him enough for today. Jack is content that he enjoyed, even though it was of last minute. They’re so tired, they just mumble and giggle until the man finds his old bedroom and whispers goodnight. Jack goes to his, somehow knowing Anti will be there in his bed, and he unbuttons his pants while walking in. The freckled man is under the covers, all tucked in, and the Irishman strips off his clothes with long sighs. Róisín is in her crib, asleep, and Anti murmurs something about staying with the garment. Jack rubs an eye, just on his boxer briefs and baggy yellow sweater, and he crawls into bed. It’s warm and the artist pulls him close, grunting, and the boy places a hand over his naked chest. They mumble a goodnight, too exhausted to do anything right now, and it doesn’t take too long for Jack to fall asleep. He just buries his face into the pillow, body going slack, and he dreams.

 

They’re not exactly good ones. The Irishman can’t quite figure it out. They just leave a bitter taste in the back of his mouth and it makes him frown in his sleep, eyes moving behind his eyelids. He shifts in his sleep, trying to find a new comfortable position, and there’s that sharp pain in his heart. It’s familiar and yet sudden. It makes him wake up in the middle of the night, sitting up with a sob stuck in his throat, and he touches his face only to realize he was crying in his dream. Jack puts a hand over his own chest, the other covering his face, and he tries to keep himself whole. That mourn is suddenly brushing against his heart, uninvited, and a small whimper wakes Anti up. The Irishman pulls his legs up, sniffing, and the freckled man is all groggy from sleep. When he asks what’s wrong, Jack just apologizes. He knows they just had a good day and he shouldn’t be feeling these things. Not again. It’s fucking three in the morning, for fuck’s sakes.

 

Anti sits up, bumping his nose against the Irishman’s cheek, and he whispers sweet nothings. The artist doesn’t like it when Jack cries and he makes sure to tell the boy just that. They lie down and the brown-haired man curls into a ball, weeping while Anti hugs him half-asleep. This is not the first time that happens, nor does he think it’ll be the last. It just always manages to sneak up on him. Jack clings onto the man, sniffing, and his eyelids are sandpaper-like. Maybe it was that thought from before that triggered something. Looking around the living room and thinking of what would Megan think of him. He wishes he could say that he’s happy. For now, at least.

 

Either way, November is there. Tomorrow will come and he’ll try getting up again. Anti caresses his hair, grumbling and trying to soothe him in his own way, and Jack can’t help but chuckle between a sob.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pocket knife Abél gives to Andreas is a [Gerber Swagger!](https://www.gerbergear.com/var/gerber/storage/images/media/multimedia/product-videos/swagger/8581479-1-eng-US/Swagger_fulljpg.jpg)  
> Fanart:  
> [galaxykitty42](https://galaxykitty42.tumblr.com/post/180519476205/inspired-by-sparklepines-story-cof-fire-he)  
> 


	15. Chapter 15

Jack stares at a dark blue suit on his bed, biting on his bottom lip, and there’s a thin black box next to it. Tyler came by that morning to deliver their outfits and all of Anti’s paintings have been taken away already to be at the event.

 

It’s been a week since that night he cried and Andreas has been hanging out more at the house. Sometimes he’s already having breakfast or just suddenly there, at the living room, watching television. Jack’s used to it by now and he asked if the younger brother wouldn’t mind to take care of Róisín while they are at the party tonight. Andreas accepted after convincing them to hairstyle Anti’s hair in return, so they are both in the man’s bedroom taking care of that. The baby is with Andreas and Jack’s pacing left and right, hair damp after a shower. To say that he’s nervous is an understatement. There are butterflies in his stomach and it feels like a prom night all over again. The brown-haired man remembers how Anti would peck his cheek over and over when he was crying, until they fell asleep again, and he sighs. Jack nods to himself and picks up the dark blue pants, slowly getting dressed. Everything fits him well, perfectly shaped for his body, and it’s the first time he has something like that.

 

He touches silver buttons, closing his white shirt and adding a black vest. He puts on a black tie, making a full windsor knot and adjusting his classic collar. The Irishman puts on a blue blazer over everything, closing just the first button and adjusting it against his skin. He walks up to the bathroom, styling his freshly cut hair with a bit of gel, and he dares a little when grabbing a cologne to use. Jack looks at himself in the mirror, clearing his throat, and his heart is already skipping beats. He still can’t believe that Anti wants him there, in an special event. The Irishman eyes that small package on his bed and he takes it, holding it close to his chest while leaving the bedroom. The floor creaks when he walks into the hallway and Andreas comes out of the opposite room with Róisín in his arms, wearing that big green sweater again. He whistles at Jack and the boy rolls his eyes, but flushes. The brown-haired man spins around at the stairs landing, showing off to make the younger brother laugh, and he asks where Anti is.

 

“Don’t tell him I said this but,” Andreas whispers, hand over his mouth. ”He’s really nervous to get out. He’s worried over what you’ll think of him.”

 

Jack says he sort of needs the man, though, and the door at the end of the hallway finally opens. He hears Anti’s footsteps first, heart picking up, and then there’s yellow. The freckled man walks out of the room with a black formal shirt, long sleeves, and a yellow vest around his chest that matches a long skirt. The more he steps closer, the more Jack notices all the details. The soft yellow skirt has so many layers, little golden patterns here and there, and he’s wearing golden high heels underneath it. Anti’s hair is tied up in a crown braid, with a few copper strands hanging loose, and the Irishman holds his breath at that sight. The artist stops in front of him, swallowing hard, and they look at each other up and down. Jack smiles wide, eyes turning into half-moons, and Andreas is between them, whispering for them to get a fucking room. Anti straightens himself, showing his outfit and asking if the boy likes it.

 

“You’re stunning,” Jack murmurs.

 

“Mm,” Anti says, a hint of a smile in his lips. “So are you.”

 

The man with the green eyes looks down at that black package in the boy’s hands and Jack perks up at that. The Irishman whispers he went back to tailor’s shop to find something that called his attention. He opens the small lid, only to reveal a pair of caramel gloves and a golden hair pin in the shape of flowers. The gloves are made of leather, up to the wrist, and they’re comfortable on the inside. It’s rather thin and very simple, nothing that will upset his marred skin. The rose hair pin has leaves on each side, like a small crown made of gold, and Anti’s eyes are warm with affection. His expression softens and he looks at Jack, as if asking if that’s all really for him. Andreas is quiet, smiling while holding the baby, and the artist takes the gloves from the package. He slowly puts them on, opening and closing his hands to adjust it, and he turns around so Jack can place that rose pin down to his crown braid. It’s all quiet and Anti glances at his brother, lips parting at all of this, and Andreas makes a motion for him to speak.

 

“Thank you,” the ginger-haired man whispers. “You didn’t have to.”

 

Jack moves closer to kiss him, cupping Anti’s face and sighing into their mouths. The freckled man touches his waist, lips making a sound when pulling back, and the boy mutters he wanted to surprise him. They exchange a look, both smiling, and Andreas clears his throat. The Irishman tells him to send updates about the baby, to really watch her or he’ll be a dead man, and Anti nods in agreement. The younger brother murmurs something about them having more faith in him and Jack kisses Róisín’s forehead. It’ll be the first time he leaves her for such a long time and he’s jittery, wanting to have a good time but also not wanting to be away. it’s confusing and he wonders if that’s how all mothers feel like at some point. Anti takes his hand when walking downstairs, heading to the front door, and he’s even taller now because of the high heels. He says she’ll be alright with Andreas and that he shouldn’t worry too much. The kid loves that baby and Jack knows that.

 

Tyler greets them outside, opening the limousine door so they can enter, and they entwine their fingers while looking out the window. Anti’s hand shakes every so slightly and Jack caresses him there with his thumb, both trying to calm down. It does take some time to get to the place but, when they do, the Irishman feels a thin line of anxiety down to his stomach. The place looks three times the size of Anti’s house and, when they step out of the car, he sees a large lance of stairs that lead inside that mansion. There are spotlights here and there, guards and people in fancy garments. They thank Tyler and walk up the stairs, entering the party after a guard confirms them in the list. It’s surreal to think that Jack’s name is there, at such an event, and there’s faint instrumental music playing around them. Some people already recognize Anti and the freckled man purses his lips, nodding. He takes the Irishman’s arm and gently guides him further to be away from them.

 

Jack sees sculptures and paintings everywhere, beautifully displayed, and they all whisper while holding glasses of champagne. The rooms have tall ceilings, shining like gold, and there are many others dedicated to other activities. He catches a glimpse of an auction when they pass by a large doorway, with people sitting down and betting on valuable items, but they enter a main gallery first. They slowly walk around, looking at the panels and frames on the walls, and Jack recognizes Anti’s work. He smiles when seeing that painting with a pair of hands holding a red rose, and the title reads _Róisín._ There are some others that he hasn’t seen yet, the man not letting him before, and he compliments them all. Jack likes how full of life they look, so colorful. Vibrant and messy. It’s really _Anti_. It feels like him. The freckled man stops by the last one, a large familiar canvas, and he stares at the boy. Jack looks at that portrait of himself, finished, and his bright blue eyes are like a beacon in that golden frame. When he reads the title next to it, he knits his eyebrows.

 

 _“Luce?”_ he asks. “What does that mean?”

 

Anti hums, blinking at him. “Light.”

 

The brown-haired man flushes and they exchange a look. Light. Is this man serious? For someone that puts himself in such a sour mood, he sure can be too sweet sometimes. His heart skips a beat and he bites his bottom lip, leaning in for a kiss, but Anti places a hand over his chest to stop him. Jack frowns, opening his mouth to speak, but a man walks up to them with a huff. It’s someone the boy never saw before, with light blond hair and a scruffy beard, and he’s wearing a black suit. The guy starts thanking Anti for coming because he was getting worried, calling him Dubháin. The way they talk makes Jack wonder if they’ve known each other for a long time and he just stands there between them, feeling out of place. Anti makes a motion with his chin at the man, as if telling him to notice the boy, and the guy extends a hand.

 

“Oh! Sorry, I’m Justin! I’m Dubháin’s manager,” he chuckles and Jack takes his hand, smiling back. “You can’t imagine how stressful it is to work with him.”

 

“I pay you to take care of my stuff and speak well of me, not complain,” Anti murmurs.

 

“I need a raise, then.”

 

Jack huffs with Justin and the guy whispers something about the copper-haired man socializing before leaving them alone. Anti sighs, scowling, and the boy looks at him up and down. Damn, the freckled man is fucking hot in that outfit and he wanted to kiss him so bad after seeing that portrait. There are so many people around them, though, and they were already interrupted. Jack leans closer to whisper into the man’s ear, saying there was a bathroom right before they got in the gallery, and he tells Anti to go there after him. The artist just frowns more, not understanding, but he nods. For a second, he asks if Jack is alright and if he needs anything, but the boy just laughs and walks away. The Irishman enters the bathroom, checking if the stalls are empty, and he paces around the large place waiting for the man. His heart races when Anti walks in and Jack all but grabs him by the vest and pushes him into the last bathroom stall. He locks it and cups the artist’s face, kissing him hard.

 

“W-We…” Anti mumbles between their lips, holding the boy’s arms. “We just got h-here.”

 

“Shh, be quiet!”

 

The Irishman pulls the man’s skirt up and tells him to hold it, kneeling down on the floor and touching Anti’s boxer briefs. The freckled man groans and the boy smiles, placing a finger over his lips before going under the skirt and pushing his underwear down. Anti leans against a wall, spreading his legs, and he whispers that Jack is crazier than him. The Irishman’s laugh is muffled, lolling his tongue out to lick the freckled man’s soft cock. Jack kisses and lightly sucks him, hands caressing the man’s thighs, and Anti takes a deep breath. It doesn’t take too long for him to get hard, slowly pushing the boy back, and they have to be quiet in the bathroom. Jack sighs, touching Anti’s ass cheeks while bobbing his head up and down. Fuck. They haven’t done anything after that night and he looks _so_ irresistible like that, Jack can’t help himself.

 

Anti huffs, letting out a weak moan under his breath, and the boy pats his thigh to be silent. He sucks the head of his cock, stroking his shaft with a hand, and the man’s leaking precum in his mouth. It’s salty and bitter, hot under the skirt, and his soft grunt is muffled. The freckled man is shy at first, completely still against the wall, but then he finally moves his hips. Jack pulls away for a moment, lifting the skirt to see, and he pants with pink lips. He whispers that Anti should do that again and the artist keeps his skirt up this time, touching the Irishman’s face with dark eyes. He bares his teeth, tugging on Jack’s hair, and he must like what he sees. The brown-haired man smirks, opening his mouth, and Anti fucking snaps. He grunts and shoves his dick down the boy’s throat, thrusting forward. Jack’s eyes roll back and he relaxes as much as he can, not being able to hold back small moans. Anti’s cock is throbbing and he’s thick, brushing against his tongue. The Irishman drools down to his chin, sucking him, and the artist knits his eyebrows in pleasure. He must be close, thrusts losing pace, and his bending over with little gasps.

 

Jack holds back a smile, his own heart beating a mile a minute, and Anti cums in his mouth soon after. He leans back a little, not wanting to gag, and he swallows it all. He hums and the copper-haired man spasms, resting the back of his head against the wall, and Jack pulls away to wipe his mouth with his thumb. He clears his throat and pulls Anti’s boxer briefs back in place while standing up, adjusting his suit and running a hand through his hair. The freckled man is panting, glassy eyes staring at him, and Jack smiles all innocent. He fixes Anti’s skirt and vest too, waiting for him to catch his breath and come back from his high. God. He’s fucking gorgeous like that, mouth ajar, and their cheeks are flushed. When Anti is about to say something, they hear the bathroom door opening, and Jack shushes him. The Irishman tugs on his own pants, calming down, and they listen the tap opening and closing. Once the person finally leaves, though, Anti shakes his head.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I didn’t want anyone interrupting us. Plus, you painted _me_. I wanted to show how I felt,” Jack whispers, shrugging, and he leans forward to peck the man’s lips. “It was fucking hot, we need to do that more often. I like having you in my mouth.”

 

“Seán,” Anti says, voice serious, and he puts a hand around the boy’s neck. “If you keep talking like that, I won’t be able to control myself.”

 

Jack grins. “Good, I wanna see how long you’ll last then. We have all night.”

 

The ginger-haired man tightens his hold before letting go with a groan, and the Irishman says he can leave first. Anti kisses him hard before doing so, biting on his bottom lip, and Jack rinses his mouth at the sink. He washes his hands and looks in the mirror, fixing his hair and tugging on his blazer. Fucking hell. Now that he’s gathered his fucking senses, he hopes that he didn’t cross any line with the man. Maybe it’s a mix of nervousness and happiness all together that’s making him act like that. Alright. _Just relax,_ he thinks to himself. Jack steps out of the bathroom, a bit self-conscious of everyone around them, but no one seems to notice him. He walks further away, turning into a room, and he spots Anti on the other side. There are quite a few people surrounding him and Jack eyes a large table at a corner, with food and drinks in display. He takes two glasses of champagne before walking up to the artist, trying to find his way into the small circle and hand him the drink. Anti immediately takes a long sip, hands trembling, and there are laughter here and there.

 

Jack places a hand behind the freckled man’s back, soothing him, but it seems to only make Anti tense up more. He tightens his hold on his drink, scowling, and he mostly looks down whenever someone catches a glimpse of his burned side. Jack tries talking to him, saying everything is alright, and Anti shuts his eyes for a second. A guy speaks to him, though, bringing him back to reality, and they all talk about how excited and happy they are to see more of the artist’s work. Jack stares at the man with a white mustache, chuckling, and a woman in a red dress nods at everything. He waits for Anti to introduce him in some way, to just acknowledge his presence in the middle of all of that, but nothing happens. The Irishman sips from his drink, a bit in the background, and his heart does something funny. Something else calls his attention out of the corner of his eye and Jack grimaces, finding Felix in a white suit from across the room. Great. He had forgotten about that asshole. The silver-haired man just raises a glass of champagne at him with a smile, as a greeting, and the boy looks away.

 

It’s only when that first group of people are gone that Anti sighs and turns his face at him, paler than ever. Jack forgets that pang in his heart and just pats his cheek, whispering that he’s doing great. Whenever they try to do something together, someone stops them, and the Irishman didn’t think it would be like that. They do exchange knowing looks and Anti will rub his thumb on the boy’s hand whenever he can. Soft touches, but never kissing. Jack’s confidence from before gets smaller and smaller, beginning to force a smile instead. His cell phone buzzes and he takes it from his pocket, unlocking it to see a message from the younger brother. It’s a picture of Róisín with Andreas’ hand squeezing her cheek. She’s frowning, pouting even, and that makes him huff. Jack raises his head to talk to Anti, wanting to show him that, but the man is trapped in another conversation a bit afar. He can’t even break into those and try to get him out, it feels too rude in this place. The brown-haired man was always good in social events, knowing what to do and what to say, but this time it feels different.

 

The copper-haired man finds him again and Jack doesn’t like his scowl.

 

“Do you want to dance?” Anti asks and the boy perks up at that. “Before someone else pulls me into another ridiculous debate about politics...”

 

Jack snorts, putting his drink down. “Sure. I might step on your toes, though.”

 

The artist guides him and they walk out of that place, going to a ballroom instead. The Irishman’s eyes widen at that, admiring how beautiful it is. It’s a round room, with baroque details and chandeliers that shine bright. Floor-to-ceiling windows with red curtains and golden strings around it. They walk down a small lance of stairs, where people are dancing to a soft tune, and Jack purses his lips. All he knows it’s what they did in the kitchen and even that ended differently. Anti grunts, calling his attention, and he bows shortly. The brown-haired man laughs, but returns the gesture before taking his hand. They step closer, entwining their fingers and holding each other’s waist, and Jack looks down at their feet. The freckled man’s strands of hair sway with their movements and he hums.

 

“Look up.”

 

“Sorry,” the Irishman chuckles nervously, staring back at those green eyes. He sighs, finding Anti beautiful under that light. His burned side and scars. “Did I… Did I go too far? Before? Are we okay?”

 

The copper-haired man frowns. “You did nothing wrong.”

 

Jack nods, relaxing in his arms, and they gently dance along with the song. It’s Anti that’s guiding him the most but the boy is not complaining. It feels good and he wants to rest his head against the man’s chest, but he holds back that urge. He’s not sure about making contact like that in public now. They whisper and smirk at each other, enjoying this moment together, and Anti calms down. Jack wants that to last, he _really_ does. He wants to be like that, next to the freckled man, breathing into his scent. Staring at those mismatched eyes and ignoring everyone around them. But, alas, they have to stop after a while when someone else wants to talk to Anti and discuss work. They want to bring him to the auction and see other people’s art displayed. Jack sighs, starting to feel frustrated with this. The guy finally looks at the Irishman, eyebrows going up as if really not noticing him before, and he asks who he is. Jack opens his mouth to speak but he doesn’t know what to answer.

 

“He’s no one,” Anti blurts out. “What do you want?!”

 

Ah.

 

The Irishman knits his eyebrows and places a hand on his forehead, not feeling so well. Anti sounded so angry when he said that. Still, his heart aches and it’s not in a good way. Those words stung. He’s been acting weird all night whenever he’s next to these people, not letting Jack touch him too much. Fuck. He regrets taking him to that bathroom now. Anti is glaring at the guy, not paying attention to the boy, and he grimaces at that. The Irishman murmurs something incoherent, excusing himself, and he leaves them behind. Jack walks into another room, trying to find that damn table with drinks, and he has to push some people away to move. It’s uncomfortable and it’s like everyone is judging him. Knowing he shouldn’t be there in the first place. _I just work here,_ he remembers. The boy grabs another glass of champagne, drinking in a corner, and he jumps out of skin when someone taps on his shoulder. He turns around only to groan and drink more, facing Felix.

 

“Not now,” Jack murmurs. “Go find someone else to annoy.”

 

The silver-haired man smiles. “Ah, c’mon now. Not even a proper _Hello_? Is that too much to ask?” Jack flips him off and Felix laughs. “I’m assuming your beast is being difficult again. As always.”

 

“This is none of your business.”

 

The man in a white suit narrows his eyes, humming, and there’s a brief moment of silence before he speaks again. This time, he apologizes for his behavior and asks for Jack’s name. It sounds oddly genuine and he even steps back, giving the boy more space. He keeps saying that he didn’t want to cross any lines before, in that tailor’s shop, and that he means well. The Irishman purses his lips, staring at his empty glass and thinking about it. He looks around, seeing unfamiliar faces, and there’s that hole in his stomach again. That sudden grief and sorrow. He looks at Felix, blinking at those light blue eyes, and the man offers him another drink. Jack still doesn’t answer right away, not trusting him fully but not wanting to be alone. He doesn’t want to feel those things right now. Anti’s probably surrounded by people all over again, somewhere in this fucking mansion. He sighs, tired.

 

“Sure… Why not?” he whispers. “My name is Jack.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- [The golden rose pin](https://pinterest.com/pin/525373112778341686/)  
> \- The classic song in the ballroom is from Beauty and the Beast! The version I like the most and that's on their playlist is [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/0MeSkypo50bstuoQJOwKQY?si=YQCuxogASg2I9X2GVCK4ww)! But in case you can check only on youtube, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OIYZcC4INgc) is the closest one I found! :)  
>   
> 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Non consensual touch! Please, proceed with care! ❤**

Jack doesn’t know how much time passes but he keeps drinking with Felix.

 

At some point, he laughs at something the man says but he can’t remember what it is. The Irishman’s heart hurts less and he finds himself distracted, truly enjoying the silver-haired man’s company. The champagne washes down that bitter taste in Jack’s mouth and he tries not to think about him kneeling down in the bathroom. Andreas keeps texting him small updates of Róisín and that’s a relief. He’s glad that everything is doing fine and that she’s sleeping by now. It’s only when he looks up at the sea of people again that he notices how blurred everything looks. He puts his phone back in his pocket, struggling a bit with that movement, and he scowls while putting an empty glass down at the table. Felix is staring at him, smiling. That fucking smile. Jack hates that smile. Why was he talking to him again? The brown-haired man clears his throat, trying to pretend he’s not that affected by the alcohol, but the man just chuckles and calls him cute. Jack looks down at his hands, vision swimming, and he sees double. He blinks hard, not feeling so good.

 

“You know,” Felix says, casually, ignoring that the boy is leaning against a wall for support. “I’ve always wanted my own housewife. Someone to take care of me. To be there and cook whenever I wanted. Of course that Abél Ó Dubháin beat me to that, though. He always does that. He got himself a really pretty one, too. I’m jealous. Why don’t you come work for me instead? I bet you’ll look even cuter with a maid’s dress.”

 

“I-I don’t know… I… Wh-” Jack mumbles, tongue heavy in his mouth. “What d-did you…”

 

He eyes their drinks, everything blurred for a moment, and then he stares back at Felix. Fuck. Everything is _so_ slow. Heavy. No. Anti. Where is he? Jack turns around, excusing himself, and the man lets him. The Irishman stumbles a couple of times, feeling small, and he places a hand over his stomach. God, why does everything has to be spinning? Please, stop doing that. Jack mumbles Anti’s name, trying to find him, and it feels like he’s dragging his feet on the floor. No one seems to be paying attention, though, so it can’t be that bad. Right? Right. Abél. The brown-haired man grimaces, walking into so many rooms, and Felix is right behind him whenever he looks over his shoulder. This place is fucking huge. It feels like a goddamn maze. Jack calls the artist again but his throat is opening, relaxing too much. It’s hard to speak. His eyes are heavy and there’s a blur of white in front of him. Felix whispers into his ear that he’ll help him and Jack holds onto him for dear life.

 

They walk upstairs, so many stairs. He thinks they shouldn’t be leaving the party, that would be rude, and Felix just says it’ll be fine. That they’ll have fun. He must have spoken out loud if the man answered, right? Why can’t he feel his mouth moving, then? They walk into a large fucking hallway and Jack shakes his head, which is a big mistake. Oh, man. What the fuck did he drink? What did Felix put in there? So many questions. He should just shut up. Anti doesn’t like it when he pushes too much. He will be upset. The boy doesn’t want to upset him, right? Felix keeps talking to him, too close, and Jack’s face scrunches up at that. He says something about wanting to have a private moment, just to get to know the boy some more. The Irishman shouldn’t have talked to him. He really shouldn’t. But Anti also shouldn’t have left him so that’s his fault too. Where is he? Where is he? Where? Why does he keep looking for the man? Why can’t he just let go? Anti said _no one._ No one. Enjoy.

 

“God, will you please, shut up about him!” Felix snaps, pushing Jack until he falls on a couch. They must have entered a room at some point. There are bookshelves and more bookshelves. It’s so dark in there. Right. “Stop saying _Abél, Abél, Abél!_ That’s fucking annoying!”

 

The Irishman’s stomach twists and he feels like vomiting but the man grabs his face, squeezing his jaw until it hurts. Felix tells him not to throw up, not right now. He hasn’t even started yet. Jack lets out a small whimper and he just _can’t_ fucking move. His body is _so_ heavy, he’s a fucking ragdoll, and the man immediately apologizes for hurting him. The Irishman sobs when there’s a hand caressing his hair and Felix whispers he doesn’t want to be mean. This guy is fucking insane. Jack’s heart is beating slow but there’s panic under his skin, a scream in the back of his throat. There are tears streaming down his face and he hates this. He fucking hates this. Why did he come there? He’s so stupid to think Anti would be with him the way he wants. That he meant so much more and that this night would be just them. He wants to go home. What is his home anyway? Abél. He misses Róisín. Felix threatens him again but Jack doesn’t know anymore what is a thought and what is coming out of his mouth.

 

He sobs more when the man leans down for a kiss and, at first, he grimaces. There’s that side of him wanting to fight but a small one that is begging for any kindness. Warmth. Jack breathes hard through his nose, kissing back with slow and heavy lips, and Felix’s mouth is smooth. So different from Anti’s, not touched by any scars. The man’s scent is also too sweet, strong and unwelcome. He frowns even more and tries pulling back, wet lips making a sound. The brown-haired man turns his face to the other side, but the man continues to kiss down to his neck. Jack whimpers, wanting to push him away but having no strength. Felix keeps whispering into his ear and touching him everywhere, saying the boy should come back home with him. Come with him. This is not right. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this. Please.

 

There are faint footsteps but everything sounds like it’s underwater. Felix is looming over him and there’s a bright light that makes him wince, looking away. The weight on top of him disappears and there’s shuffling in the background. Jack fights to breathe, moving his head and seeing Anti through half-lidded eyes. The artist has Felix pinned down on the floor and they are both yelling. There’s a pocket knife that the freckled man takes out of somewhere, threatening the man with a glare, and Jack just watches with silent tears. That raw anger scares him for a moment, memories of when Anti grabbed his neck in that workshop comes to his mind. It’s that same glare, that rage. More people walk into the room, that bright light from the hallway making the Irishman groan, and Anti punches Felix in the face. There’s _so_ much yelling, so many people. Please. Stop. Fuck, he wants Róisín. He wants Megan. Where are they? Where is his sister?

 

“An-” he mutters. “Abél…”

 

The freckled man looks up, finally walking towards him, and Jack can’t stop crying. Pupils so fucking wide, his eyes are almost black. Anti looks torn, that light illuminating half of his face, and he whispers everything that he’ll do. The man picks him up, bridal-style, and the Irishman moans in pain, stomach folding. He buries his face in the crook of Anti’s neck and, after that, everything happens in small cuts. They’re in the limousine and he’s lying down on the artist’s lap, sweating and staring into nothing. He mumbles incoherent things, trying to get away from Anti’s touch, but the man doesn’t listen. He catches a glimpse of Andreas running in the lobby and the ginger-haired man holds his tight, taking them upstairs with hurried steps. He blinks and he’s in front of a toilet, throwing up everything in him. Jack weeps, ugly crying, and he’s shaking. The brothers keep arguing behind him, one trying to support him and the other pacing around, and the boy just wants some quiet. Anti sounds so upset, so fucking mad and desperate. He fucking ruined everything again, didn’t he? Jack gags, close to passing out, but he thinks it’s Andreas that wipes his mouth.

 

“I w-want…” he mumbles, voice dragging and drooling, and it’s so fucking hard to speak. Why is it so hard to speak? He’s forcing as much as he can, begging to scream, but it’s just hoarse murmurs. “I want my daughter! I w-want my d-daughter…”

 

Someone whispers that he can see Róisín later and he grimaces at that, being carried towards a bed. Jack’s all limp and he sniffs when Anti removes his blazer. They undress him just enough to feel less suffocating and, when the Irishman falls onto the mattress, the bed ceiling is spinning. He closes his eyes, wanting this to be over, and he curls into a ball. Jack feels hot and cold at the same time, relaxed but scared. He’s so fucking scared. Maybe he should just sleep. The Irishman tries gathering everything together, to make sense of what just happened, but it’s difficult. Don’t do that right now. Jack buries his face into a pillow, smearing it with quiet tears, and his body just fucking shuts down. He passes out like that, losing track of time, but it makes him feel better. The boy embraces the silence after so much shouting, music and drinks. He dreams of that portrait and a rose, nothing really making any sense. A blur of white and a twisted smile. Yellow. It’s agonizing, like a constant sharp pang.

 

He wakes up with a dry mouth.

 

Jack rolls over, lying on his back, and the bed ceiling is not spinning anymore. He sighs and rubs his eyes with tired arms, licking his lips and clearing his throat. He has a throbbing headache and he knits his eyebrows, recalling last night. Everything is hazy, a fucking mess. Anti being weird and Felix hovering over him. Kissing him. Shit. Jack can’t believe that he was drugged and that he let his guard down like that. How stupid. He places a hand over his chest, listening to his beating heart, and he’s calm. Hurt and exhausted, but calm. Jack blinks and looks around, realizing he’s in Anti’s room but the artist is not there. He sits up, groaning and dragging a hand over his face, and the bedroom door opens. The Irishman looks up to see Andreas, hand around the doorknob, and they exchange a look. The brother purses his lips and slowly walks in, opening a curtain just a little so they can see each other better. He approaches the bed, fidgeting with his fingers.

 

“Hey… How are you feeling?” Andreas asks and Jack sends him a look that says it all. He huffs, small smile on his face. “Yeah, that’s a stupid question… Listen, Jack… I’m so sorry th-”

 

“Where is Róisín?”

 

“She’s taking a nap, in her crib. It’s almost four in the afternoon,” the man answers. “Anti is in my room. You kept saying you didn’t want him near. You would scream if he got any closer. He… He’s worried, to say the least. We didn’t sleep very well. He’ll want to see you now that you’re awake.”

 

Jack shakes his head, murmuring something about wanting to shower first. He feels dirty. Disgusting. Andreas nods and says he can leave some of the boy’s clothes by the bed and Jack thanks him. He slowly gets up once he’s alone again, sighing and walking up to Anti’s bathroom. He strips off that white formal shirt and pants, stepping into the shower and turning on the tap. The brown-haired man closes his eyes and just focuses on that feeling, cold water streaming down his body. He scrubs his skin harsher than before, arms and chest turning pink, and he washes his hair with the man’s shampoo. When Jack dries himself, he looks in the mirror and groans at the dark circles under his eyes. He looks like crap. There’s a white shirt over the bed and he ignores the pants, wanting to be just in boxer briefs this time. He ruffles his hair, drying more with a towel, and the door opens again. Jack looks over to see Anti’s tired eyes. His hair is loose, locks falling down to his shoulders, and he’s wearing a black long-sleeved shirt. It’s quiet, both locking their gaze, and the boy sighs.

 

“That wasn’t how I wanted our night to end,” Anti whispers, closing the door and leaning against it. “I wanted you to wake up here, for other reasons… I wanted you here with me.”

 

“So did I, Mr. Ó Dubháin,” Jack hums, crossing his arms over his chest, and the man winces at that name. “I don’t even know where to begin. Maybe by saying you were an asshole.”

 

“Seán, I didn-”

 

“I gave you a f-fucking blowjob!” the Irishman interrupts, hating that the corners of his eyes burn with new tears and that his voice cracks. He grimaces, heart aching, but he just _snaps_. “I let you cum in my mouth! And you t-treated me like I was nothing! You called me _no one_ , Anti. I thought you wanted me to support you, to be there for you, but you r-refused everything! I felt humiliated and _alone_. Now I’m here wondering if I even have the right to feel these things, because I don’t know what I am to you! Felix said-”

 

“He knows nothing!” Anti growls, glaring at the boy. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name in this house. He fucking _hurt_ you, that sick bastard! I wanted to strangle him right there and then!”

 

“You hurt me too!”

 

When Jack says that, the man’s eyes widen, and the boy looks away while shaking his head. He wipes a tear that has escaped and Anti walks up to him, but the boy tells not to touch him. The Irishman whispers how scared he felt, looking for the man last night, and he kept thinking about Róisín too. Hell. Jack will never let that happen to her. He can’t even handle that thought. No. He’ll protect her. The copper-haired man scowls, whispering that he doesn’t understand, and he raises a hand to caress the boy’s hair. The Irishman groans and pushes Anti back, hitting his chest out of anger.

 

“HOW?!” Jack shouts, tears streaming down his face, and his fists shake with so much frustration. “H-How can you not understand that the way you acted was hurtful?! Insensitive! D-Did you think that I would be just fine in a corner, all by myself? I’m not-! A-Are you using me?! Is that it? I need to know! I need to know if you were lying to me all this time! B-Because if that’s the case, I c-can’t believe I let you get close to my child! Maybe _Felix_ was right and you were just happy that you had someone to cook for you! To wash your clothes! Someone to fuck! Was I just delusional thinking that you r-really cared for me? That I was more than just an employee?”

 

“Are you fucking serious?!” Anti scoffs. “I didn’t do that on purpose! I didn’t think… Listen to yourself!”

 

The freckled man moves forward and Jack steps back, heart racing. He gasps when Anti grabs his shoulders, pushing him backwards, and he tries escaping the man’s hold with a growl. The boy’s back hits a wall and he thrashes himself, groaning when Anti wraps his arms around his waist. Jack’s breathing picks up, more tears falling from sapphire eyes, and he sobs when the freckled man hugs him. Anti buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, not letting it go not matter how hard the boy kicks him. The Irishman mumbles for the man to let him go and Anti calls it bullshit. His face scrunches up in emotion, sniffing, and he clenches his hands around the man’s shoulders. Jack stops moving, too tired, and he takes deep breaths. They stay like that for a moment, calming down, and Anti rubs his thumbs on the boy’s back. It gives him goosebumps and Jack presses his lips together, scowling at himself. The artist murmurs against his skin that he didn't mean to do these things. That he just wanted the Irishman away from the media and just enjoy the party without having to deal with those people. They can eat him alive, these people are not good.

 

“But you’re wrong. You’re so fucking wrong! I want to be… I wanted to be part of your world and you closed me off. You didn’t talk to me about any of this either,” Jack whispers. “What am I to you? Am I still just your caretaker? Why can’t you just tell me how you _feel_?” Anti raises his head to look at him and the boy touches his cheek, that marred side. Both of them with crestfallen faces. “Tell me how you feel, Anti.”

 

The freckled man opens his mouth and then closes it, staring at Jack’s blue eyes instead, and there’s silence. He frowns, groaning under his breath, and Jack tries to understand what is going on behind those sad eyes. He even whispers a _Please,_ begging for an answer. For anything. When nothing happens, the Irishman sighs and puts his arms down. His heart sinks and his head is throbbing, headache splitting his skull in half after crying so much. Jack gently pushes Anti away this time, but the man doesn’t budge, clenching his jaw and shaking his head. Fuck, this is so hard. Why does it hurt so much? Why? Why didn’t he say something? Goddamnit, Anti. You fucking idiot.

 

“Let me go,” Jack says again, barely a whisper. “I quit, Mr. Ó Dubháin.”

 

“No... No, you can’t do that,” he replies. “Don’t call me that. You just can’t.”

 

Jack doesn’t want to stay there, not right now. Not anymore. He wants space and time to think. Anti is not helping and he doesn’t want to be influenced by these touches. When he tells the man all of that, Anti’s expression is a mix of frustration and sorrow. It stings knowing that Jack’s the one who made that happen but he’s also torn. He’ll call Robin and he wants to see Róisín now. The ginger-haired man lets out a strained sound and he tries holding the boy’s wrist, not wanting him to leave the room. Jack tells him to stop, to not make things worse, and Anti lets go of him. He opens the bedroom door, walking into the hallway, and Andreas is sitting by the stairs landing with tears in his eyes. Jack passes by him, ignoring the kid calling his name, and he goes to find Róisín. She’s awake, babbling and trying to roll on her stomach, and the Irishman picks her up to hug his baby. He sighs, breathing in her scent, and he kisses her forehead.

 

He rocks Róisín, just wanting to have her in his arms, and he whispers how much he loves her. That everything will be fine and that he missed her. Jack kisses his baby over and over before placing her in the car seat, and he opens a closet to find a bag. He calls Robin while gathering some of their clothes, folding them and putting in it, and he asks if the man can pick him up. The Irishman gets dressed properly, putting on some pants and shoes, feeling a weight over his shoulders. Andreas walks in mid tears and Jack’s heart clenches, looking away. The dark-haired man stares at all the clothes over the boy’s bed, the bag, Róisín in her car seat.

 

“Bell said you’re leaving,” he whimpers. “I don’t know w-what’s going on, he’s not talking.”

 

“An, I’m sorry... I just want to be alone for a while, okay? I promise I’ll text you later.”

 

Andreas’ face falls and he runs out of the room, yelling at Anti, and Jack tries to block those sounds. Róisín whimpers too, not liking how everyone is so agitated, and he cups her cheeks. The Irishman sighs, dragging a hand over his face, and he waits for a bit in the room. Robin texts him that he’s almost there, so he puts the bag strap over his shoulder before taking them downstairs. The boys are not in sight but he can hear Andreas’ muffled voice around the house, and Jack places the bag outside so he can get the stroller. He’ll have to leave her baby swing behind and many other things, but he tries not to think too much about that. The Irishman’s just working on autopilot, as always, and he sees Robin parking in front of the house. He helps Jack to put Róisín inside and organize his stuff, and the Irishman comes back to the lobby to take the stroller. Anti is there, at the stairs landing, with that portrait of him and his brother behind him. Andreas stops halfway, noticing the man is not following him, and he groans.

 

“Say something!” the dark-haired man shouts at Anti, as if he’s just as frustrated as the boy. “ _Do_ something, Abél! Don’t just fucking stand there!”

  
Jack pauses for a moment, waiting as well. Begging with his eyes for the man to open his mouth and say that he’s sorry. That he made a mistake and that he wants to fix this. That they can be together and heal. That he didn’t want Jack to feel so confused like that and that they can work this out. _Please, say something,_ he thinks. _Anything._ The freckled man just grimaces, frozen in place, and he looks down at the floor instead. Jack sighs, his own face crumbling, and he turns his back at them. Robin purses his lips and they don’t say anything, not yet. He just gets inside the car with red eyes, next to Róisín in the backseat, and his friend turns on the ignition. The brown-haired man looks back at the mansion, seeing Anti walking out with Andreas. Their faces slowly turn into a blur, the more Robin drives away, and Jack looks back at his baby, wondering what the hell are they going to do now.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart:  
> [galaxykitty42](https://galaxykitty42.tumblr.com/post/180741388115/i-have-faith-in-sparklepines-dancy-boys-have)  
> 


	17. Chapter 17

_“The millionaire, Felix Kjellberg, has been taken into custody for sexual harassment and possession of illegal substances after an annual event. Videos show that the victim was indeed under a under a psychoactive drug and witnesses reported such harassment, along with the famous painter Abél Ó Dubháin. Kjellberg wi-”_

 

“Will you please turn that off?” Jack murmurs.

 

He catches a glimpse of a shaky video, of someone walking into that dim room, filming the millionaire before a blur of orange shows up. The Irishman’s identity doesn’t show on screen, too many people in front of the camera, and he sighs at the muffled shouting. Robin walks into the living room and turns the tv off, whispering sorry. Jack waves a hand and he’s sitting at a small round coffee table with Róisín whimpering in his arms. It’s been a couple of days since he crashed in the Swedish man’s house and his sore back is a proof of that. The Irishman’s been sleeping on the man’s couch, refusing an offer to have the bedroom, and the baby has her bassinet from the stroller. It’s been mostly quiet but stressful. Jack’s trying to do anything to keep himself distracted, taking care of almost everything while his friend is at work so he won’t bother as much. Robin is sweet and the boy knows he would never be upset, but this whole situation is not ideal for anyone.

 

Jack’s cell phone buzzes on the table, another message from Andreas, and he purses his lips when seeing that background picture of Anti sleeping with Róisín. His friend sits down at the table, across from him, and he murmurs something about Andreas texting you more now. Jack snorts and ignores the messages, patting the baby’s back. She’s wearing a small sweater and comfy pants for this cool weather, and there are dark circles under the boy’s eyes. He’s been having nightmares and she’s being louder than usual now. Her face is turning red and it looks like she’s about to cry. He has tried to give her a pacifier, feed her, change her. Everything. He puts a hand on his forehead, elbow resting on the table, and he grimaces. Fuck. All Róisín’s books are there. Her bunny! He forgot about her fucking _bunny._ No wonder she’s so impatient. Jack shushes her, apologizing. Robin sighs, saying he could just go there and get it.

 

“Robin…”

 

“What?” the light-haired man asks. “I’m not wrong! I… I get what you told me but you guys need to talk. You can’t just leave all of that behind, that’s an absurd. I’ve never seen you so happy.”

 

“I just said I needed some time alone… And trust me, I wanted to, but it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

 

Robin tells him to stop ignoring these text messages then and just figure it out. Jack groans, rolling his eyes, and he jiggles his legs so Róisín will calm down. His friend scratches the back of his head and the boy asks what is it. Robin says he’s supposed to meet with Andreas and his boyfriend later today but he wants to make sure that Jack is fine. That he’ll stay if that’s the case. The Irishman doesn’t even hesitate when telling him to go. God, no. He wouldn’t stop his friend to do something he wants. Jack’s seriously fine with it and happy that Robin likes the younger brother. They look adorable together and that makes the Swedish man’s cheeks redden. He huffs and he stands up to pace around with the baby, humming under his breath. They just had breakfast and he wonders if Anti is eating. If he’s showering and taking care of himself. Shit. Jack hopes Andreas is helping him.

 

He’s been thinking about a lot of things.

 

The Irishman found time to just clear his head, to really think of what they were doing. He quickly learns that he misses that mansion more than he should, even though it’s been around three days since he left. He got used to waking up next to the freckled man and make him tea. It’s funny how fast they fell into a routine together, as if they’ve been doing that for years. But Jack kept hiding that thought, that worry in his heart about what all of that meant. He also made a mistake by not asking and pulling them into an honest conversation. He knows that. The boy was just so goddamn happy and he wanted to make that last. After what happened at the party, though, everything came crashing down. Felix whispered all these doubts and fear that Jack was trying so hard to forget. It was just too much and Anti had no reaction, just staring at him with a dumbfounded expression. The Irishman couldn’t bring himself to stay, not knowing if his emotions are much stronger than the man’s. It’s too painful and he’s been through so much already.

 

It’s only later in the day that Robin starts getting ready for his date and he’s all over the place, asking Jack if he looks good in a dark purple shirt. The Irishman snorts and says he’s handsome in anyway, and that only makes Robin roll his eyes while whispering _Duh_. Róisín has finally gone quiet a while ago, sucking on her pacifier and tugging on her blankie, and Jack thinks he can go out with her now. He needs to buy more diapers and formula. Robin kisses his forehead before heading to the door and he tells the Irishman to call him if something happens. Jack nods, smiling, and he watches his friend leave the house. He sighs, looking around, and thinks that he could make himself some nice coffee after coming back from the grocery store. The Irishman opens that bag next to the couch, grabbing a jacket, and his fingers brush against a grey scarf. Jack purses his lips but takes it, wrapping around his neck and lying that it’s just to protect himself from the cold. He puts a beanie on Róisín’s head and a jacket as well, organizing the stroller and grabbing his wallet.

 

Jack talks to his baby all the way, saying it’s a quick walk down the street, and he leaves the small house with a sigh. He does his best not to drag his feet on the sidewalk and the air is cool. She’s just staring up at him through half-lidded eyes and he smiles at her. They enter a store and he goes to the baby section, staring at all types of diaper with a tired face. His cell phone buzzes and he holds back a groan, taking it out of his pocket and unlocking it. Jack scrolls down through all Andreas’ messages, saying that they want him back and that Anti is not doing so well. The last one is just him telling Jack that he’ll be off for a couple of hours and the Irishman locks his cell phone once more, knitting his eyebrows at a package of diapers. He buys everything that they need, not wanting to waste too much time, and he groans under his breath when noticing something.

 

There’s a familiar BMW walking slowly behind him and that is not the first time he sees that, after moving to Robin’s house. Jack scowls when the car gets closer and the window goes down to reveal Tyler on the driver seat, already looking sorry.

 

“Stop following me!” Jack says, still walking with the baby.

 

“My apologies, but Mr. Ó Dubháin ordered me to keep an eye on you...”

 

“That’s stalking, you’re invading my privacy,” the boy continues. “Please, I do not want to call the police but if I see you again, Tyler, I _will._ ”

 

“Mr. Ó Dubháin wanted me to give you this,” the man says instead.

 

For a second, Jack thinks it’s going to be Róisín’s bunny, and he looks at Tyler in expectation while stopping on the sidewalk. However, the chauffeur has an arm extending out of the car window and he’s holding just a small piece of paper. Jack takes it and, when he opens it, he frowns at one of Anti’s messages. **_Forgive me_** , it says. The Irishman looks back at Tyler with a serious expression and asks if he has a pen. The man quickly pats his pockets and gives him one. Jack thanks him and scratches those words, writing _Fuck you_ on the bottom of it.

 

“Tell Anti that if he wants to apologize and talk face to face, he can first get his giant head out of his ass and create some fucking balls,” the boy murmurs.

 

“Uh, he won’t like that very much but… I guess he asked for it, huh?”

 

Jack says goodbye to the man and he walks away, heading to Robin’s house. He can’t believe that Anti asked Tyler to follow him and he all but huffs when walking inside the place, locking the door. The boy distracts himself by organizing everything that he bought and taking Róisín’s jacket. They flop back down on the couch and he grumbles, turning on the tv and trying to find something good. He murmurs to the baby that Anti is a dummy and she just babbles with him. He nods at everything, thinking she’s always right. Robin texts him a few hours later, saying things got to the third base faster than he thought, so he won’t be home for a while. Jack just snorts at his cell phone screen and he makes sure to change Róisín before feeding her again. It only hits him a moment later that this means Anti is alone in that mansion and he can only hope that the man is doing nothing wrong to himself. Jack rubs his temple, sighing and rocking the baby’s bassinet for a bit, and he lies down on the couch to take a nap too.

 

His cell phone rings after a couple of hours and he wakes up all groggy from sleep, spread on the couch. He pats the carpet floor to find that damn thing, clearing his throat when grabbing it. Róisín doesn’t wake up, thankfully, and he answers immediately. He thinks it’s Andreas again, trying to contact him, and he mumbles for the kid to stop. Jack blinks several times, looking around the house, only to notice that night has fallen and Robin hasn’t come back yet. A different voice reaches his ears and he all but lets out a groan fall from his lips, burying his face back into a cushion.

 

_“Seán…”_ Anti speaks and his words are dragged, muffled. _“Seán, I w-wanna… I want y-you here...”_

 

“Wh-” Jack knits his eyebrows, slowly sitting up on the couch. “Are you drunk?”

 

The freckled man doesn’t answer right away and the boy can hear his heavy breathing against the cell phone, a low grunt and shuffling in the background. _“Yes,”_ he murmurs. _“I’m… Yeah. A bit… A lot.”_

 

The Irishman leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and he sighs while shaking his head. When he asks where Anti is, the artist mumbles he’s lying down in his workshop. Great. Jack says the freckled man can’t do that to him, that this isn’t fair. He’s not going to talk to Anti through the cell phone, not like that. The copper-haired man grumbles, saying he wants to touch the boy, and Jack tells him to stop. He holds back a whimper, swallowing. Anti needs to go to his room and go back to sleep, and the man complains when the Irishman says these things. Andreas will be there soon, everything will be alright, and he just needs to wait.

 

_“Anny lives with his b-boyfriend… An apartment… Somewhere, I don’t remember… He bought m-me peaches, though. I like peaches.”_

 

“That’s great, honey,” Jack lets that nickname slip and he winces at that, too tired in the middle of the night. “Please, go to your bed. Don’t drink anymore… I can’t go there right now.”

 

_“Why?”_

 

“You know why.”

 

Anti breathes heavily again but he whispers that he will go for Jack. The Irishman just thanks him, barely a whisper. They don’t end the call right away and the brown-haired man tells him to speak about what’s happening, wanting to keep the man conscious. Anti mostly hums, saying he hates those damn stairs in the mansion, and Jack snorts. The boy listens to his breathing and a low swear calls his attention. The artist mumbles that he tripped on a rug but that he fell in bed already. The Irishman’s heart clenches, glad that the man did what he asked, and they still don’t hang up. His face scrunches up, shutting his eyes for a moment, and there’s that sharp pain again.

 

_“I missed your voice.”_

 

Jack huffs. “You’re so fucking dramatic. It hasn’t been that long, you idiot.”

 

_“I mean it…”_

 

The Irishman opens his eyes, staring at ground, and he tigthens his hold around the phone. Jack’s lips quiver and he tells Anti to sleep before ending the call, only then letting out a sob. His heart races and he covers his face, whimpering and feeling a wave of panic. The boy cries in the dark, not being able to control his aching heart.

  


* * *

 

 

That exhaustion in him doesn’t seem to leave, even when almost two weeks pass, and he’s mostly on that couch with a hand on his forehead. It’s colder every day and he thinks that the garden of roses must be covered with fallen petals by now. Róisín turns four months while he’s there and he has to hold back another anxiety attack over how fast time has passed. Right now, though, it’s a grey morning and Andreas shows up at some point, holding Robin’s hand. They all purse his lips at the boy and Jack doesn’t hesitate to hug the younger brother. Andreas is on the verge of tears again, missing him and calling Anti an idiot. They don’t let go for a long time and the Irishman caresses the man’s hair.

 

“He’s destroying everything. He’s a fucking mess,” the kid says, sitting down next to Jack and caressing Róisín’s hair. “Both of you. You look awful, Jack.”

 

The Irishman bites his bottom lip. “Has he been eating?”

 

Andreas snorts. “Why don’t you go check for yourself?”

 

He huffs, crossing his legs, but he knows the young man means well. They hang out a little more, Andreas and Robin glancing at each other, and Jack whispers that they are the teenagers now. He founds out through the dark-haired man that Anti freaked out in that party, when he couldn’t find the boy. He was panicking, yelling at everyone, and Andreas was so scared when they arrived. Jack grimaces, heart aching, and he doesn’t even know what to say. He just listens, recalling vague images of Anti patting his cheek and whispering for him to stay awake back in the car. They change subjects, saying they will want to go out today, and the Irishman nods while giving the boy some cookies that he recently made. Jack zones out, feeding Róisín, and he doesn’t mind them leaving. He can get used to being alone again. He can do that. The baby makes a sound, almost as if saying that he’s not really alone, and Jack smiles down at her. He tells her that they need to find a new plushie for her soon and she just blinks at him.

 

Robin and Andreas leave in a bit of a hurry, throwing smiles and waving at Jack before closing the door, and the house is quiet. Again. The Irishman feels anxiety crawling under his skin, that fear of not knowing what to do now. He rests his head on the back of the couch, hugging Róisín, and he closes his eyes. The boy tells himself to breathe, to keep it in the day. He’s slowly relaxing, taking a deep breath, but a sound startles him. The doorbell rings and Jack just stares at the front door, wondering if he should just ignore it. It’s not his place anyway. There’s a loud knock this time and he sighs, rolling his eyes and placing Róisín in her stroller. He gets up, popping his bones, and he asks who it is. There’s no answer and Jack lets them know Robin is not home right away. The person insists, knocking again. The Irishman scowls while opening the door, only to freeze upon seeing copper hair and a burned face. Jack’s eyebrows go up and he tightens his hand around the doorknob.

 

Anti is standing in front of him, looking miserable. He’s wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants, feet bare in this fucking cold. Long ginger hair falling over his face, all messy, and freckles standing out. Downcast eyes looking back at Jack, chest moving up and down with his quick breathing. The Irishman’s heart aches and they stare for a good minute, just taking it all in. He’s there. He’s really there. Jack’s suddenly self-conscious of his own dark eyes and unkempt hair, beard not trimmed. He runs a hand through his brown strands, clearing his throat, and he lets out a whimper when noticing Anti holding Róisín’s bunny. The freckled man licks his dry lips, opening his mouth to speak but then closing it. He murmurs something about thinking exactly of what he was going to say when walking there, but it’s still difficult somehow.

 

“I t-thought it was enough,” he finally says, voice hoarse, and Jack crosses his arms over his chest. He’s shaking, face flushed. “I thought my art was enough to show you how I felt. I thought that giving you everything you wanted would be enough, but I was w-wrong. I was doing it all wrong.”

 

Anti says he never had to fight for affection, to do something and earn it. Andreas loved him since day one, no matter what. No matter how many times Anti fucked something up and they fought. He never cared for anything else because it was always easy for him. The artist didn’t bother to have any relationships, not feeling anything or just not wanting to waste his time with that. It was always just him and Andreas, so he didn’t learn the simple things. Jack grimaces, looking down at the floor, but he listens. He notices the man’s dirty feet, bruised and probably sore. Fuck. Did Anti really come there walking? In this fucking cold? He probably came there in a hurry, after waking up, not even bothering to get dressed properly. What a stupid, stupid man. Anti holds the bunny, not wearing any gloves, and the Irishman purses his lips when seeing new cuts on his hands. He stops to take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second.

 

“I’m sorry for the way I acted. I’m sorry I d-didn’t say anything and I’m sorry I let you go without an answer,” he continues. He speaks slow, knitting his eyebrows, and he looks so worn out. “You asked me how I felt… I feel remorse. I should’ve talked to you and k-kissed you at the party. I should have respected and protected you, but I failed. Y-You saw my face. You saw how I am, and you literally pulled me out of bed instead of running away. I want you to be my boyfriend, even though I feel that we’re more t-than that. That name is not enough but I’ll take it. I’ll do anything to be with you. I want to be better. You don’t have to work for me, I just want you there and you can do a-anything you want. You’re not just a caretaker, you never were. I want you and little rose to come back home. I miss her... I miss you so much and I never thought I w-would feel these things.”

 

Jack’s face scrunches up in emotion and he breaks down, sobbing and covering his face. Anti never talked that much with him, not about his emotions. Not at all. He really thought about this and the boy cries, vision blurry. The artist grimaces, swallowing, and the boy tries wiping away some of his tears. His shoulders shake and Anti drags a hand over his face, tired and blinking heavy. The Irishman swears under his breath.

 

“Y-You fucking idiot,” he whispers and lightly hits the man’s chest. The man doesn’t budge, just sighing. “Took y-you long enough! You’re so stupid!”

 

“I know… I’m stubborn,” Anti says, moving closer but not daring to touch Jack. “Please…. Come back h-home.”

 

“Fuck!”

 

Róisín’s cry calls their attention and he looks up to see the copper-haired man clenching his jaw, giving him the bunny with a trembling hand. Jack sniffs and shakes his head, mumbling that he should come inside because of the cold. Anti walks inside, hugging himself. It’s like he’s trying to look smaller, hunched down and leaning forward like that, and Jack goes to the baby. The artist looks around the place, walking slowly and unsure. The boy whispers that Anti is there and she all but moves her arms, whining. Jack’s gaze meets the man’s and he gently gives her the bunny, watching her smile and giggle. The Irishman’s heart clenches and he blames these two for giving him so many emotions. He tells Anti to sit down on couch, wanting to grab a blanket, and he damps a towel with warm water in the bathroom. Jack comes back, still sniffing with red eyes, and he wraps the fabric around the freckled man’s shoulders. Anti warms his hand with the towel before cleaning his feet just a little.

 

“Did you really walk all the way here? You live almost two hours away by car, you asshole,” Jack says but there’s no bite in his tone. “Why didn’t you call Tyler? You’re freezing…”

 

“I needed to think.”

 

Róisín whines again and they look at her, seeing her squirm and shake her bunny in the air. Anti sends him a look and Jack nods, letting him pick her up now. She clings onto him, touching his hair, and the freckled man hugs her close. He cups her head, kissing her cheek, and a sigh leaves his lips.

 

“Mio rosa…” he whispers.

  
Jack rests his forehead against Anti’s shoulder, sighing, and the man moves to get more of him. The boy wraps an arm around the artist’s waist, both hugging with the baby between them, and Anti rests his cheek on top of the boy’s head. The corners of Jack’s eyes are sore from crying and he buries his face in the crook of the man’s neck, tightening their hold. He tugs on Anti’s shirt, quietly crying, and he mumbles that he missed him too. That all he wanted was for the man to _speak_ and be honest about what his feelings. About what they are. He breathes into that citric scent, brushing his nose against the freckle man’s skin, and his heart beats easier. As if those strings around it finally untangled, leaving room to heal.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao everyone's reaction from the previous chapter, including on tumblr, was fucking amazing. Everyone wanted to kick Abél in the butt hahaha. You guys are great! I'm so happy to know everyone is enjoying this! ;u;


	18. Chapter 18

They wait for Robin and Andreas to come back, just sitting on the couch. Anti has the baby in his arms and Jack’s hand is resting over the man’s thigh. The artist murmurs something about them wanting to leave on purpose that morning. They knew Anti wanted to come over and the Irishman shakes his head, knowing they were up to something. When they arrive, Andreas and Robin eye each other before asking what happened. Jack looks at the freckled man, taking a deep breath, and the younger brother asks if he’s coming home. Róisín is already trying to put Anti’s hair in her mouth and the man stops her with a small grin. He’s warming up, resting next to him after walking all that way. The brown-haired man drags a hand over his face, huffing.

 

“Yeah…” he says. “I’m going home.”

 

They help him pack his stuff, even though he didn’t bring much after leaving Anti’s house. They call Tyler and Jack pulls Robin for a private conversation, wanting to explain right. He thanks the Swedish man from the bottom of his heart and they hug tight. His friend is more than happy to see that they talked and that they’ll figure things out, but that Jack’s always welcome in his house. The boy kisses his cheek and he gets inside the car with Anti, baby in her car seat. The ginger-haired man rests his head against the boy’s shoulder, closing his eyes, and Jack tells Tyler that they can go. The ride is calm and quiet, both of them needing this together. The Irishman places a hand over the man’s arm, rubbing his thumb there, and Anti relaxes. When they arrive at the mansion, Jack’s heart clenches and he inhales, everyone stepping out of the car. Tyler helps with his bag and the stroller, and the artist drags his feet inside the house while holding the baby.

 

They walk upstairs and Jack grimaces upon seeing curtains teared up and broken frames in the hallway. Anti does make a face before opening his bedroom door, whispering the boy won’t like it, and Jack purses his lips when they step inside. The bedsheets are all torn, shattered glass on the floor, and there are feathers everywhere from the ruined pillows. It feels like that first time he saw Anti, lashing out, and he scratches the back of his head. He asks if he can put Róisín to sleep in her crib and the man obeys. He doesn’t want her near that room right now. Jack picks up glass from the ground, tidying up the room as best as he can. The boy grabs new pillows in a closet, sighing, and Anti comes back when he’s making the bed. It feels like deja vú, having the ginger-haired man standing by the doorway, waiting for the boy to finish folding the sheets. So much has changed since then, though. There are more scratches on the walls and he glances at the man’s hands, knitting his eyebrows.

 

“Where is it?” Jack asks. “The knife. Where is it?”

 

Anti scowls, going back to his usual self with that expression, and the Irishman waits. He goes towards a frame above his dresser, putting a hand behind it and taking out a sharp object. The silver shines in the room and Anti easily spins the knife with one hand, staring down at it. Jack extends an arm and the man clenches his jaw. They exchange a look and the man hesitates, tightening his hold around the black handle. Anti purses his lips and Jack places a hand over his, whispering that he just doesn’t want the freckled man to get hurt. He’s sure that there are more knives around the house, but that could be a start. Anti lets him take it and the Irishman thanks him, cupping his cheek. Jack tells the artist to take a warm shower, so he can feel better after walking so much. Meanwhile, the boy will hide that knife in his bedroom and check the rest of the house. Fucking hell. He can’t leave for just a minute and the copper-haired man already makes a fuss about it.

 

He groans when seeing the man’s workplace. It’s a fucking mess, paint splattered on floor and walls, along with some of his paintings completely ruined. Jesus. The only places left untouched are Andreas’ and Jack’s bedroom. Róisín is fast asleep there, not being that long since she ate, so she’s all comfortable. He passes by the living room to put cushions back in place and there are broken plates in the kitchen. Spoiled leftovers at the counter. Jack drags a hand over his face and throws the expired food away, cleaning what he can and moving on autopilot again. Anti shows up in the kitchen, frowning, and he’s wearing a white long-sleeved shirt. Fuck, he looks good in white.

 

“What are you doing? Why are you washing the dishes?” he murmurs. “Stop that.”

 

“You’re terrible,” Jack says instead, scrubbing a dirty plate. “Ruining your paintings and your house. You shouldn’t have done that...”

 

“I was upset.”

 

Jack snorts and stops washing, turning off the tap and drying his hands. He looks at Anti, thinking he got himself a short-tempered boyfriend, and he holds back a smile. The Irishman walks up to him, cupping the man’s face, and they just stare for a moment. Emerald meeting sapphire. Jack rubs his thumbs there, caressing his skin, and he takes a deep breath. Anti leans into the touch, leaning down and wrapping his fingers around the boy’s wrists. The brown-haired man moves to place a long kiss on Anti’s forehead, ginger locks falling down, and they embrace each other. The freckled man pulls the boy up, so his legs lock around his waist, and Jack buries his face in the crook of his neck. Anti walks them out of the kitchen, in slow and quiet steps, with the Irishman caressing his hair. It feels right to be in his arms, letting him carry them to his bedroom, and their hearts are calm. He breathes into Anti’s neck, pecking him there and moving up to his jaw. His cheek. The man grumbles, bumping his nose against Jack’s face, and the boy smiles.

 

When they get there, Anti places him in bed and his long hair falls around the boy. Jack tucks a few strands behind his ear and he likes feeling the man’s weight on top of him. The artist leans down, noses brushing, but he waits for the boy to do something. Anti’s warm breath hits his face and his heart skips a beat, closing the small gap between their lips. God. How good it is to kiss him again. They tilt their heads, beards scratching, and he sighs when Anti’s split tongue brushes against his lips. They open their mouths to taste more of each other and their slow kiss makes a sound in the room. Jack moans when Anti adjusts them better, and they tangle their legs together. He slides his hands under the man’s shirt, feeling him, and he hums when Anti bites his bottom lip. The artist moves his hips, a shy thrust, and Jack does that too. He tugs on that shirt, rolling it up until the freckled man stops to take it off. The boy flips them over to be on top and he strips off his own shirt.

 

Anti roams his hands on Jack’s sides and the Irishman shivers under his touch. That rough skin against his, giving him goosebumps. The copper-haired man takes a good look at him, humming through half-lidded eyes. He trails his fingers on the boy’s happy trail, up to his abdomen and chest, and Jack holds him by the wrist. The Irishman’s heart races but he places Anti’s hands over his head, leaning down with a small grin. The freckled man stays still, letting Jack hold him like that, and he moves his chin up for a kiss. The boy chuckles and denies him that, just moving his hips more, and Anti groans. Jack goes down to his neck instead, avoiding his lips, and he bites the man’s there. He’s careful with his marred skin, kissing and sucking on his right side, and the artist squirms underneath him. They rut against each other, nice and slow, and the mattress shift with their weight. Jack lets out a weak moan into Anti’s ear, tightening his fingers around his wrists, and the man mumbles he wants to touch the boy.

 

“I kind of like you like this, though,” Jack whispers and Anti tries moving his arms.

 

“Seán…”

 

The Irishman laughs and lets go of him, but he notices something on the man’s right side, on his ribcage. There’s a knife tattoo, as if it’s sinking into his skin, and the boy didn’t see that before. It’s so simple and small, not even the size of his pinky finger. He traces his fingers there and Anti whispers it was his first tattoo. Andreas was the one who did it, when they were just teenagers, and the ginger-haired man did the same with him. Jack asks if there’s more and Anti says he had a rose tattoo on his left hip. He hums, touching that burned side, and he lightly kisses the freckled man. Anti pulls him close, wrapping his arms around Jack, and they sigh into their mouths. The kiss is deeper and harsher, both breathing through their noses and moaning. It makes his heart flutter and they add more pressure in their movements, buckling their hips up. Anti unzips Jack’s pants and pushes them down, caressing the boy’s ass cheeks. The Irishman sits up to get rid of them and the man watches him.

 

“I like your hips,” Anti murmurs, touching him there. “You’re so small…”

 

Jack flushes and he’s aware of how much muscular the man is. The boy gained some weight, being so busy with taking care of a baby, so he’s aware of his soft belly. He bets that he can pin the artist down, though, and that makes Anti smirk. He gives the man some space so he can take off his sweatpants. It’s not that difficult to see that he’s not wearing any underwear underneath it, like Jack is, and the boy’s mouth waters. They’re not rushing anything, though. They’re just exploring, touching their skin and brushing their lips against each other’s. It’s the first time Jack sees Anti completely naked, and the man flips them over so the boy is under his gaze. The Irishman’s head falls onto the pillow and it’s his time to admire the freckled man. He’s gorgeous, strong and covered in scars. Every time they tried something, it was mostly in the dark. Dim lights. Under a skirt. Just now that Jack’s taking it all in. Anti’s burn marks go down to his left thigh and his cock is curving up to his stomach, long and thick. There’s a hint of worry in the man’s eyes and Jack hums with a smile.

 

The Irishman makes a motion with his fingers, calling for Anti, and the man leans down while tugging on his boxer briefs. Jack grins more into their kiss, mumbling that the man is beautiful, and Anti pushes the boy’s underwear down to his thighs. He gasps and flushes when the artist moves down to his stomach, pecking his skin there. The freckled man licks the tip of his cock before lightly sucking on it, making Jack mewl. Fuck. Anti’s split tongue goes down his shaft and he groans, throwing his head back and running a hand on the man’s copper hair. Anti hums, slowly bobbing his head up and down, and the Irishman pulls his legs up. His stomach tenses up a couple of times, breathing picking up, and he stares at the bed’s ceiling with his mouth ajar. He pants, knitting his eyebrows, and he still can’t believe that they’re doing this. That they’re there, together. The corners of his eyes burn with tears and he blames his heart, aching with emotions.

 

Anti pulls back and Jack looks down at him, biting his lips when seeing the man’s wet mouth. They barely started and he’s already so hard, craving everything. Jesus fucking christ. He murmurs the man better have something, because he doesn’t want to stop. Not again. He’ll commit murder if that ever happens. Anti’s long scar on his face moves with a small grin and he nods, saying he’ll be right back. The brown-haired man huffs and the artist walks into his bathroom, butt-naked. God, what a gorgeous sight. Jack runs a hand down to his cock, stroking himself a couple of times, and he moans louder on purpose when the man comes back. Anti grunts, holding a small bottle of lubricant, and the Irishman notices it’s half empty.

 

“Someone likes to have fun on their own… Have you been jerking off, sir?” Jack grins, pressing his own thumb on the underside of his dick. He sighs, eyes fluttering. “H-Have you been thinking of me?”

 

“Always,” Anti whispers, taking Jack’s hand away, and he sits between the boy’s legs. “I’m always thinking of you.”

 

The brown-haired man groans, not believing that the man said something like that. For someone that doesn’t like talking about his feelings, he sure can be sweet. Jack grabs a pillow to place underneath him and he spreads his legs, letting Anti move even closer. They sigh and the man caresses his skin, admiring him. Anti doesn’t have much hair on his body, so different from Jack, and the artist kisses his inner thigh before opening the bottle. He smears his fingers with it and the Irishman’s heart skips a beat, gasping at that cold touch. Anti keeps his eyes on him, just teasing and brushing a finger against Jack’s asshole, and the boy relaxes. He closes his eyes, loving that the man is caressing him everywhere, and they hold their hands while Anti works on him. The brown-haired man hums, feeling a finger inside him, and the artist is gentle. His hands tremble slightly and Jack murmurs sweet nothings, telling him to keep going and that everything is alright.

 

Jack gasps under his breath, cock twitching, and Anti stretches him up. He adds a second one, burying his knuckles there, and the boy moans. The copper-haired man grunts, his own erection leaking precum, and Jack moves his hips along with his fingers. Fuck. There’s a spark of pleasure when the artist quickens his pace, making scissors motions, and the Irishman arches his back. He swears, face scrunching up, and he pants in the room. He tightens his hold around Anti’s hand and the man keeps opening him up. There are just Jack’s moans in the air, bedsheets shuffling underneath them, and he whines when the freckled man stops. Anti pulls his fingers out to get more lubricant and Jack sits up, crawling on top of the man’s lap to kiss him hard. The ginger-haired man gasps into his mouth, holding him close, and the Irishman slides his tongue inside to taste him. He touches Anti’s cock, stroking him for a moment. Jack smiles when the man thrusts into his hand.

 

“I’ve missed y-you…” he mumbles between their lips and Anti groans, touching the boy’s asshole again. Jack’s eyes flutter at a third finger and he adjusts on the man’s lap, kissing his marred cheek. “I’ve missed you s-so much.”

 

“Sei perfetto,” Anti whispers back, planting soft kisses on Jack’s neck. “I want you…”

 

“You already have me.”

 

The man moves to look up at him, light eyelashes batting against freckled skin, and the Irishman brushes some strands of copper hair away from his face. They stop for a second, just staring and catching their breaths. Jack kisses Anti’s droopy left eye, his scars and lips, and the artist sighs. He bumps his forehead against the boy’s, removing his fingers and just hugging him. They’re chest-to-chest, hearts beating for each other, and it’s so intimate. Jack touches Anti’s cock, humming, and he lifts his hips to take it. The freckled man holds his waist, watching the boy going down on him slowly. The Irishman tears up, more of emotion than anything, and Anti is so patient right now. The tip of his cock penetrates Jack and he takes deep breaths, lowering himself with care. The brown-haired man sits down with a shaky sigh, a choked moan escaping his lips, and he’s so full. So warm. Anti touches his sides, his soft belly, and the boy flushes even more. They lean forward for a kiss and Jack cups his face, fingers tangling in copper hair. He shyly moves his hips and Anti gasps into his mouth.

 

Jack rides him through heavy pants, broken by small gasps and moans. Long and slow thrusts. The artist growls, digging his nails into the boy’s skin, and he buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck. They’re all tangled, legs locked around each other’s waist, and Anti’s cock moves in and out. He breathes into the man’s ear, caressing his hair, and his heart flutters. It’s overwhelming, despite them being so calm. It’s good to have him. It’s good to _feel_ him. Jack’s so thankful that Anti came to apologize, to _talk,_ as hard as it is for him. They’re really trying to be better, to overcome their own problems and past. He mewls, erection brushing against their stomachs, and he wants to remember this. Everything. A different sound calls his attention, bringing him back to reality, and he focuses back at Anti. He’s looking down, scowling, and Jack cups his cheeks so they can lock their gaze. Jack’s eyebrows go up, seeing tears in the man’s eyes.

 

“Hey… Hey, what’s g-going on?” he asks. “Do you w-want us to stop?”

 

“No. Never,” Anti whispers, shaking his head. “I’m just… It’s you. With me.”

 

“Oh, Abél, you silly man. You’re all mellow now. I k-knew you were a softie inside.”

 

Jack giggles and the freckled man scowls harder, but a couple of tears fall from his green eyes. Anti tells him to shut up, thrusting and making the boy moan mid-laughter. He quickens his pace and Jack holds onto him, smiling but panting again. He pecks the man’s lips and cheek, breathing in his scent. Anti pushes him down, changing positions, and he fucks Jack harder. The Irishman wails, arching his back and throwing his head onto the pillow. The bed creaks, skin slapping, and his balls tense up. Jack swears, legs locked around Anti’s waist, and they keep looking at each other. The artist’s ginger hair moves beautifully with them and there are low moans escaping his lips. The brown-haired man feels like he’s going to explode, heart beating fast against his ribcage, and his pupils are wide. Anti holds Jack by his jaw, digging his nails there but not hard enough to hurt, and the boy groans. His cock is throbbing, red and swollen, and he shouts when the man hits a sweet spot. Jack’s skin buzzes and he sucks in air, all tense with pleasure.

 

“Fuck! R-Right there, yes! Oh, fuck m-me!”

 

Anti clicks his tongue and stops instead, earning a loud whimper from the boy. He pulls out and Jack huffs, hating how empty he feels. The freckled man tells him to turn around and the Irishman doesn’t waste any time, pecking his lips with a grin before doing what he’s told. Jack lies down on his stomach, ass up in the air and he holds the pillow. Anti kisses his back before pushing his cock inside of him once more. They both groan at this new pose and the ginger-haired man wraps a hand around Jack’s neck. He thrusts fast and the Irishman’s eyes roll back, broken mewls leaving his mouth. His knuckles turn white and Anti’s pressing his chest against the boy’s back, warm above him. Jack’s cock bounces up and down at their movements, and he drools. The artist pounds into him, letting out hot puffs of air, and the heat below the Irishman’s stomach grows. He whines, leaking precum, and his thighs tense up. He mumbles he’s going to cum, voice strained, and Anti jerks him off.

 

Jack’s shaking and his breathing turns sharp, short. He freezes but the man doesn’t stop fucking him, and he cums hard onto the sheets. He sobs, toes curling, and hot white strings hit up to his chest. Anti swears into his ear and his final thrusts are deep, making the boy shudder. They spasm in bed and the freckled man jizzes inside of him, filling him up. Jack sighs, burying his face into the pillow and letting the man finish it off. He squirms, shuffling, and their hips twitch at their climax. Anti bites his neck, humming, and there’s a wide smile on the Irishman’s face. It feels wonderful and he loves how the man pecks his shoulders, caressing his sides. He loves that marred skin against his. Jack’s chest is sore from breathing so hard and Anti gently pulls out, cum trickling down the boy’s thighs. He turns around to catch the freckled man’s lips into a sloppy kiss. They sigh and hug each other. There are three words on the tip of Jack’s tongue but he holds them back.

 

“Hi,” he whispers instead, feeling silly and high.

 

“Hey, you…” Anti murmurs, running a hand down the boy’s thigh, pulling his leg to get more of him. “I like you like this.”

 

“I like you like this too… You’re so good,” Jack grins, touching his own stomach, and he licks his fingers to taste him. The artist’s eyes darken, rubbing a thumb over the boy’s bottom lip. Anti’s hair is a mess, flushed cheeks and sore mouth from kissing. The brown-haired man hums, blinking with heavy eyes. “Can we order some food? I’m too tired to cook now...”

 

Anti blinks at this sudden, dumb question, but then there’s that ugly snort mixed with laugher. The one Jack loves the most. His shoulders shake, eyes turning into half-moons, and the Irishman’s heart clenches at that sight. Damn. A full blown smile with teary eyes. He tucks strands of hair behind Anti’s ear and the man chuckles some more, agreeing about the food. Jack snickers with him, cupping his face and calling him beautiful. They kiss some more, enjoying the quiet afterwards, and the brown-haired man thinks that he’ll never get tired of that.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the knife that Anti gives to Jack!](https://www.knifecenter.com/item/ON6515/ontario-chimera-tactical-fixed-combo-sharpened-top-edge-blade-kraton-handle)  
>  Fanart:  
> [_aecid](https://www.instagram.com/p/BrI9FcWnRuE/)  
> 


	19. Chapter 19

Jack takes a shower and he wears one of Anti’s boxer briefs.

 

He just ordered some food and the man cleaned himself as well, just putting on some underwear and nothing more. The Irishman ruffles his damp hair, sitting down on bed, and he smells of Anti all over. He’s covered in red marks, soon to be hickeys, and there are faint handprints on his hips. They had amazing sex and now everything is just slow. Serene. The sun is setting, casting into the room through the curtains, and Jack pulls one leg up to hug himself. The copper-haired man hums, lying in bed with a hand over his stomach, and the boy turns his face to look at him. They exchange a look and Anti tells him not to move, opening a drawer from a nightstand and taking out a sketchbook. Jack smiles, hiding it behind an arm, and he watches the artist pick up a pencil and open a page. He bites his bottom lip, murmuring the man could snap a picture of him. Anti shrugs.

 

“I like this better,” he whispers, sketching. “I can show you how I see you. Don’t move too much… The lighting is perfect.”

 

The Irishman stares at him, lips parting at his words, and his heart flutters. They keep glancing at each other while the freckled man draws him, hands shaking slightly. There’s only the sound of the pencil against paper, and Jack never thought he would feel these things. Such a raw emotion towards someone. It’s spellbinding. He blinks, remembering when he left and that call. How worried he felt and yet hurt. The brown-haired man looks down at the man’s hands, seeing those small cuts there, and he takes a deep breath. He asks about it, about what happened while he was away. Jack wonders what was Anti doing when he called drunk that night. The freckled man purses his lips, pausing for a second, and the boy waits for an answer. It’s quiet and they just breathe, resting.

 

“I used to smoke a lot,” Anti murmurs, returning to the drawing, and he scowls at himself. “I tried to light a cigarette again but I couldn’t. So I drank, thinking that would fucking work. It didn’t. Last thing I knew, I was hearing your voice.”

 

Jack hums, thinking to himself, and he scans the man’s expression. “Was it you?” he asks, sensing a thin line of anxiety dropping down to his stomach over what he’ll imply. His voice barely comes out. “Did you cause the fire?”

 

Anti closes his mouth and he just looks down at the sketchbook, glaring at it. The man gives him a short nod and Jack’s face scrunches up at that. Fuck. The copper-haired man says that he was drunk as well, angry and thinking of Andreas. He missed his brother. Everything was terrible and he felt utterly miserable. He felt like burning it all. His works. Anti whispers he poured gasoline in the workshop. On the floor and on his paintings, drinking and smoking while doing so. He didn’t mean to stay. He passed out there, inebriated, and he woke up even more dizzy due to the smoke. The copper-haired man touches his left side for a moment and Jack grimaces, imagining him waking up scared and alone. Lost. Anti saw that painting of him and his brother, as kids, and he couldn’t bring himself to lose that. Anything but that.

 

“I was covered in gasoline… Lied over it for who knows how long,” he whispers. “I think you know what happened next.”

 

There’s another pang in his heart when Anti touches that long scar on his face, saying that he wanted to get rid of that side. Even though he deserved that, he hates how disgusting he looks. It’s like a curse, it’ll never go away. Sometimes he wants to rip his skin off. Hell, he tried. So many scars around his body. It hurts knowing Anti harmed himself, drowning in sorrow. The Irishman would be lying if he said that he didn’t try anything like that before, though. Whether it was physically or emotionally, through a bottle of whiskey or a razor, they mutilated themselves. Their hearts. Jack purses his lips and crawls up to him, lowering the sketchbook and sitting on the man’s lap. Anti keeps glaring down, turning his face away and letting hair fall over it, and the boy sighs. He cups the artist’s cheeks, making them look at each other.

 

“I told you not to move.”

 

“You didn’t deserve it. Just like I know I didn’t deserve losing my sister,” Jack mutters. “We make mistakes but we need to learn from them. Believe me when I say that you’re beautiful. I like being with you so fucking much, don’t you ever forget that.”

 

He leans down for a kiss and Anti smiles a little, lips curving against his. He pecks the man’s neck, humming and caressing his hair, and the artist sighs. The doorbell rings and the boy groans, wanting to keep going but knowing it’s their food. The Irishman kisses Anti one last time, whispering for him to check on Róisín while he goes downstairs. Jack gets out of bed, opening a drawer from the man and grabbing that yellow sweater before leaving. It falls down to his thighs and he doesn’t waste much time when grabbing the food, paying for it and thanking the delivery guy. He takes some plates from the kitchen and napkins, walking into his bedroom this time, and he holds their Chinese food up in the air with a grin. Anti snorts, sitting in bed with Róisín on his lap, and she’s all clean with a new diaper and outfit. It’s a dark blue onesie, with stars all over, and she’s babbling up at the man.

 

He joins them in bed, setting up their food, and Anti places the baby in her basket, in front of them. She squirms and he gives her a blankie, watching her grab it lightly and blink at them with round blue eyes. Jack sends her a kiss and talks to her about their food, wondering if she’ll like it when growing up. Anti eats quietly, leaning back against the pillows, and the boy knows he’s tired. They both are. It’s been an overwhelming day, too many emotions. The brown-haired man notices how much the artist eats and he sighs, thinking he was probably skipping meals again. Jack looks at Róisín and he tells Anti that he started massaging her a few days ago, that the man can try if he wants it. He mostly talks about what he’s been doing, which isn’t much, but the freckled man seems to be listening. Once they’re done eating, Anti offers to take everything out and the boy lies down with Róisín. He whispers to the baby how much he loves her and she answers with loud sounds, making him giggle.

 

“Hey.”

 

Anti’s voice calls his attention and, when he looks at the doorway, the man is standing there with his cell phone in hands. Jack is caught by surprise, realizing he took a picture of them, and he huffs.

 

“Woah, when did you learn that?” the brown-haired man smiles, resting his head back into the pillow, and Anti snaps another one.

 

“Andreas taught me,” the copper-haired man says and Jack’s jaw drops, not expecting an answer. The man snorts, half scowling, half smiling. “I’m kidding.”

 

The Irishman asks who he is and what did he do with his boyfriend. Anti goes back to bed and he all but melts there, lying down on his side and kissing Róisín’s head. Jack blinks, whispering that they should rest for a bit, and the freckled man doesn’t waste much time with that. It’s not that easy for the Irishman to fall asleep, as tired as he is, so he just looks at them with a warm heart. Jack bites his bottom lip, still feeling Anti inside of him, and he scans the man’s face. He replays their intimate moment, and, fuck, that was so good. It’s been so long since the boy had that sort of touch. That warmth and tenderness. Anti was slow and gentle, but also possessive and harsh when it was needed. He cried. He fucking _cried._ God, what a stupid mellow man. He acts so tough but he can’t fool Jack anymore. The Irishman raises a hand in the air, brushing a few strands of copper hair away from the artist’s face to reveal that burned side. Róisín is quiet in his arms, both breathing deep, and the boy’s lips part.

 

He’s in love.

 

He’s in love with Abél and it’s such a raw thought, that Jack winces at his aching heart. The Irishman felt that way before, but it just really hits him now. That it is real and that they’re together. It’s crazy to think that he only knows Anti for around two months. It feels like they’ve known each other longer than that. Christmas is right around the corner, as well. The year is almost over. Damn. He wonders if the freckled man would like to decorate the mansion. Maybe they could get a tree too. He hums to himself and closes his eyes, not quite sleeping but resting his mind for a few minutes. Jack focuses on the quietness, Róisín’s chest moving up and down with her breathing, and Anti softly snoring next to him. It puts him at ease and he takes a deep breath himself, enjoying this. It’s only after an hour that he gently pulls the baby out of Anti’s arms, noticing her getting impatient, and the freckled man stays there asleep.

 

Jack quietly plays with her, making faces and watching her smile at him, and he picks up Róisín’s baby lotion at some point to massage her. He leaves the baby just in her diaper, folding her onesie for now, and she lets out small giggles. Jack shushes her with a grin, whispering she’ll wake Anti up, and she moves her legs and arms in the air. The brown-haired man caresses her tummy and he sees the freckled man stretching out of the corner of his eye. He inhales deeply, patting the bed before blinking at them, and Jack sends him a smile of apology. The man yawns, pushing his ginger locks back with his fingers, and he sits up to look at Róisín. The Irishman asks if he wants to try massaging her now and Anti nods, but he’s a bit slower due to sleep. It makes the boy snort and rub his back.

 

“I’ve been thinking…” Jack murmurs. “Maybe you should let Ethan and Tucker come here more often. Twice a week. I still want to take care of house, but not alone. You could help too, you know? It won’t be as overwhelming if we’re both working together, especially since Ró is growing up… And I was wondering if we could go shopping tomorrow. We need a Christmas tree.”

 

The ginger-haired man looks down at the baby, knitting his eyebrows. “Your father is very demanding, you know that?”

 

“Today is November 28th! We’re _late_ for decorations!” Jack chuckles, heart fluttering at the word _father._ “It would be her first Christmas.”

 

Anti sighs, rubbing his hands on her tummy and arms. “Fine.”

 

The Irishman kisses his cheek and the man grunts, dressing the baby back in her onesie. When Anti asks if he slept, Jack just shakes his head. He had a lot in his mind and he thought of just watching on Róisín instead. He can sleep later at night. The freckled man hums, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear but some still manage to fall again. Anti asks if they’re really alright and the boy makes a face, huffing with a smile. Jack nods, murmuring that they are, and Róisín lets out a loud sound while batting her arms. He picks her up, saying something about her being bored lately. Anti suggests them to buy more stuff for her tomorrow and the Irishman flushes, but agrees. They leave the bed so Jack can prepare the baby’s formula and they walk in slow steps, side by side. He likes this. He likes how casual they are. The boy entwines their fingers when they go downstairs, rubbing his thumb against that burned skin, and Anti carries the baby’s basket. They’re still just in their boxer briefs and Anti stays with Róisín at the kitchen island while he works.

 

They’re not hungry right now, having eaten in the afternoon, so he just focuses on the baby. The ginger-haired man plays with her, letting her tug on his hair even though Jack calls him out. Anti doesn’t seem that stressed to be in the kitchen right now and he even comes closer, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. The Irishman blushes when the man plants soft kisses on the back of his neck, brushing his lips there and giving him goosebumps. Anti slides his hands down to his underwear, lightly biting his shoulder. Jack giggles but tells him to stop, that they can do something later. The freckled man grunts, tightening their hold, and the boy turns his head to catch their lips into a kiss. He rests against Anti’s chest for a moment, breathing deep, and they pull away so Jack can go feed the baby. The man keeps trying to touch him, brushing his knuckles against the Irishman’s arm, and he offers to read a book to Róisín once she’s done eating.

 

Jack watches him do just that, sitting at the couch with the baby on his lap. He points at the animals and textures, murmuring a silly story while she mostly stares up at him. Her mouth is ajar and she’s frowning at the book, letting out small sounds. Jack has that thought again of loving him. His heart aches and he loves seeing these two together so much. The artist locks their gaze from across the couch, knitting his eyebrows, and the Irishman just shakes his head. Now it’s not the time for confessions. He’ll try to keep these emotions close to his heart still. When Róisín starts getting sleepy, he rocks her gently before placing her in the crib. The house is dark, only the moonlight casting through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and Anti takes his hand to lead them to his bedroom.

 

They fall back onto the mattress and Jack’s on top of him, kissing him between sighs. The freckled man melts and their lips make a sound when pulling back. The boy tugs on Anti’s beard and he traces the man’s mouth with his thumb. The ginger-haired man hums, lolling out his split tongue, and Jack remembers that day in the garden. Their first real kiss and them, covered in mud. He watches Anti move his tongue, twisting and curling it easily, and the Irishman holds back a moan. He leans down to suck on it, brushing his own tongue against his, and he moves his hips just to tease. The artist groans and the boy does it again, smiling. Jack whispers if Anti can eat him out and his eyebrows go up when the man flushes, stuttering and scowling at himself.

 

“Wh-” he murmurs. “I’ve… I’ve never… I don’t kn-”

 

“Oh,” Jack interrupts and then cups his cheeks. “Hey, it’s okay.”

 

Anti mumbles something about not interacting much with anyone and that he slept with two people in all his life, but it was all just casual. There were no attachments and they never did something too different. Jack snorts, calling him an old-fashioned man. He wants that tongue up his ass, though, and that makes Anti flush even more. God, he’s fucking adorable. Who knew this grumpy man could be so awkward? The Irishman smirks, asking if he can show him, and the artist frowns even more. He doesn’t know how Anti would feel, not being in control this time, but Jack wants it. Fuck, he does. The brown-haired man roams his hands on the man’s sides, pushing his arms to be over his head, just like before. Anti takes a deep breath and the boy waits, letting him think. His hold is loose and it could be broken at any time, but the man does nothing. The ginger-haired man sighs, looking up at him with dark eyes, and he relaxes.

 

“Fine… I want to see you try,” Anti whispers and Jack’s mouth falls open.

 

“Oh! Is that how you’re gonna be?” he laughs. “I’m gonna make you regret that. You’ll be begging for my cock.”

 

The copper-haired man says something about wording but Jack just shushes him. He leans down to brush his lips against Anti’s, not really kissing, and he tightens his hold around the man’s wrists. The Irishman does the same down to his neck, just lightly feeling the artist’s skin with his mouth and breathing into his scent. Jack pushes Anti’s arms to hold with one hand, telling him not to move, and the other slides down between his legs. The freckled man squirms when the boy palms him through the boxer briefs, biting on his neck. He slowly pushes them away, wanting to see the man’s cock half-hard, and he hums. Jack whispers for Anti to turn around and lie flat on his stomach. The freckled man grunts, but does what he’s told, getting rid of the underwear on the way.

 

“Face down, ass up in the air,” Jack says and he knows he’s teasing the man this way. Anti purses his lips, placing a pillow underneath him, and he spreads his legs while lifting hips. “Hold yourself open for me.”

 

“Seán, I swear to fuckin-”

 

“I promise I’ll make you feel good… Trust me, love. Anything you can tell me to stop and I will, alright?”

 

Anti looks at him over his shoulder, eye tattoo on the back of his neck, and Jack caresses his hips. His soft ass cheeks. The artist swallows but nods, moving his hands back to do what the boy wants. The Irishman smiles, loving to see him like that, and he brushes his lips on the man’s back. Jack soothes him, caressing his inner thighs and covering him with chaste kisses. He breathes down the artist’s asshole, liking how smooth he is, and Anti tenses up. The brown-haired man licks him there, just poking his tongue out and teasing until he hears a huff. Jack lightly sucks, biting the rim of his asshole, and he presses a thumb there between his tongue. Anti shuffles more in bed, taking a deep breath, and the boy smiles. He touches the man’s balls and cock for a moment, but he mostly ignores it. The man lets out a muffled sound when Jack slides his tongue inside, and the Irishman hums while eating him out nice and slow.

 

The brown-haired man is hard himself but he focuses on his man, heart racing. Anti trembles and he tries moving away, but Jack keeps him still. He mumbles that he can rest his arms and the artist groans when doing so. The Irishman speeds up a couple of times, pushing that thumb inside to give him more room, and Anti finally chokes a sob.

 

“F-Fuck!” he moans, buckling his hips up in the air.

 

The freckled man buries his face into the pillow, groaning, and his knuckles turn white. Jack’s eyes turn into half-moons, content to be doing this, and he pulls back to lick Anti’s balls. There’s saliva running down his chin, smearing the man’s ass cheeks, and he moans. The Irishman murmurs he tastes wonderful and Anti just thrusts in the air, wanting more. Jack sees his cock twitching, fully hard, and he lets out hot puffs of air between more kisses. He rubs the man’s thighs, up to his waist, and he digs his nails there when he sucks harder. Anti seems to be holding back so many sounds but some of them escape his lips, small gasps and pants in the room. Jack slides two fingers up his asshole, stretching him up, and the man knits his eyebrows. He caresses Anti’s back, asking if everything is okay, and he nods. The boy takes off his own boxer briefs, grabbing that bottle of lubricant before touching his erection. The freckled man looks over his shoulder with glassy eyes, ginger hair fallen all over his face.

 

Jack strokes himself a couple of times, whimpering at his throbbing cock, but he doesn’t fuck Anti right away. He didn’t ask yet. The man groans harder, upset with the boy’s attitude, and that makes Jack chuckle. He goes back to the freckled man’s ass, gently touching his cock, and he stops every time Anti seems to be enjoying himself too much. The Irishman buries his face between his ass cheeks, making him moan louder and shudder, and he pauses again. Anti’s leaking precum, trickling down to his erection and smearing the boy’s chin. He lets out a strained sound, moving his hips back, and it doesn’t take too long for him to speak.

 

“P-Please…”

 

“Please, what?” Jack smiles, touching his thigh and kissing his ass cheek. Anti groans and his words are too low, muffled. “Honey, I didn’t hear you. You gotta speak up.”

 

_“Fuck me!”_ the artist grunts, spreading his legs more. “I want you.”

 

The Irishman pecks his back and tells him to turn around once more, wanting to see him. Anti rolls back, huffing, and his all flushed. Cock curving up to his stomach. Jack licks his lips, heart clenching, and he crawls up to him. Anti’s hands go up to his waist, locking his legs around him, and the Irishman doesn’t accept the kiss Anti wants to give him. He laughs, listening to the man grunt and scowl, and he tugs on his ginger hair. The freckled man huffs, hazy green eyes staring up at him, and his mouth is ajar, panting deep. Jack pecks his cheek first, that marred skin and long scar. He wants Anti to know that he’s loved. That he’s beautiful. Jack wants him to feel all of that through every kiss. Every touch. The brown-haired man spreads more lubricant on his cock before pushing in, being gentle and watching Anti’s expression.

 

He thrusts once and they gasp, adjusting themselves. The Irishman places his arms above the man’s head, seeking support, and they moan when he moves again. It’s slow and deep, just them sighing and moving together. Anti knits his eyebrows in pleasure, arching his back, and he digs his nails into the boy’s arms. Jack leans down to finally kiss him, mumbling how much he likes the man, and the artist mewls into his mouth. There’s something so beautiful in this, seeing Anti so vulnerable underneath him. It makes the Irishman’s heart flutter, chest sore from how fast it beats, and his breathing picks up at every thrust. They’re both trembling, touching each other, and Jack moves in and out of him. Their kisses are sloppy, between smiles and moans, and they’re chest-to-chest. Anti buries his face in the crook of his neck, holding the boy, and the heat below his navel burns. They shift in bed, skin lightly smacking in the night, and Jack whines while quickening his pace.

 

It’s still so tender and it’s Anti that cums first, throwing his head back and jizzing over their stomachs. He half groans, half sobs, closing his eyes. Jack feels his asshole clenching around his cock and his pants break into short gasps, curling his toes when cumming inside of him. The Irishman shudders, hips jerking, and he breathes into Anti’s ear. They hum and brush their cheeks against each other’s. The ginger-haired man cups Jack’s ass cheeks, keeping him there, and the boy smiles at him. He whispers a _Told you_ to Anti and the man fakes a snarl, biting his earlobe and flipping them over. The Irishman just laughs, throwing his head back, and the freckled man pecks his face, breathing into his scent. Anti still thrusts a couple of times, lightly riding the boy, and Jack hugs him close.

 

It’s peaceful and warm.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:  
> \- [taterztots ❤](https://taterztots.tumblr.com/post/181036204126/havent-made-anything-remotely-creative-in-a-long)  
> Just wanted to leave a quick note that Andreas belongs to [trashcansasha](https://trashcansasha.tumblr.com) and [Plutonic_5!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutonic_5/pseuds/Plutonic_5) He is Abél's younger brother and I'm very happy they let me write him for this story! You can check more about them below:  
> \- anti brothers tag: [my tag on tumblr](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/tagged/anti%20brothers) | [trashcansasha's tag](https://trashcansasha.tumblr.com/tagged/anti%20brothers)  
> \- [their playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/marvelsoo/playlist/4ms6iH9HaTiw2XnqnidxXw?si=HzChG5A_Tu6Q8Qft4jyqJQ)  
> \- [their storyboard](https://pinterest.com/sparklepines/anti-brothers/)  
> 


	20. Chapter 20

The Irishman wakes up a couple of times during the night, shuffling in his sleep. His eyes move fast behind his eyelids and there are unwelcome memories brushing in his dreams again. It makes him jolt awake with a low groan in the back of his throat. Jack sighs, rubbing his eyes and blinking in the dark to find a faint light from a digital clock. It’s five in the morning and he’s lying on his back, white sheets tangled down his legs. His heart calms down and he slowly focuses back to the present, taking a deep breath. The Irishman looks to his side, seeing Anti spread all over the bed. He barely moves, sleeping so heavy, and the boy huffs when hearing his light snoring. He’s flat on his stomach, arm hanging off the mattress, and the covers are down to his thighs. Jack moves closer to him, caressing his exposed ass cheeks, and the man doesn’t stir. He places a soft kiss on the artist’s burned shoulder, hugging him and remembering yesterday.

 

Anti looked so beautiful underneath him, with redden cheeks and pink lips. Glassy green eyes staring up at him, panting and moaning. Jack smiles against the man’s marred skin, pressing another kiss there at that thought, and he traces that eye tattoo on the back of Anti’s neck. He thinks about how the freckled man never really had  _ this. _ This, between them. Jack did have relationships before, he slept with women and men, but it was never like this too. He tightens his hold, feeling possessive over the copper-haired man. He’s glad that he was Anti’s first. The Irishman blinks heavy, relaxing again, and he dozes off with these thoughts. Jack still wakes up after an hour, though, but not with a pang in his heart. It’s slightly better, so he quietly gets up to go to the bathroom, wanting to pee and brush his teeth. There’s faint sunlight between the curtains, shyly bathing the room, and Jack’s footsteps are low.

 

He puts on some underwear for a moment before walking into the hallway, going to check on Róisín just to be safe. It’s still too early in the morning and she’s fast asleep, arms and legs spread in her crib. Jack smiles, watching her for a little bit, and he turns around to go back. The house is dead quiet and he brushes his fingers against those long marks on the walls, looking up at that frame in the stairs landing. The brown-haired man walks into Anti’s bedroom but he stops by the doorway, seeing him sitting up. The artist has a torn expression, dragging a hand over his burned side, and his ginger hair falls down to cover his face. Jack waits for a moment, looking at Anti brushing a hand against that empty side on the bed, and he knits his eyebrows. When the Irishman finally steps forward, softly calling for his name, the man lifts his head in surprise. Anti’s expression changes to a mix of relief and sorrow, and the boy walks up to him.

 

“I thought you left,” the man whispers, voice hoarse from just waking up. Jack sits back on the mattress with him, shaking his head.

 

“I don’t really want to do that again…” he mutters back. “I was checking on Ró. Couldn’t sleep much.”

 

Anti nods once and he murmurs something about brushing his teeth. Jack waits, falling back onto the pillows with a huff and he stares up at the canopy bed. The brown-haired man sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment, chest moving up and down with his breathing, and he feels the mattress sink more with a new weight. Jack opens his eyes to see Anti looming over him, hair tied up in a bun, and they just stare in this quiet morning. The man tugs on the Irishman’s boxer briefs, gently pushing them down so they both can be naked, and the boy lets him. He runs a hand down to his stomach, just resting there, and Anti looks down at his body. The freckled man takes his time and Jack blushes under his gaze. They are both exposed, vulnerable, and the boy stretches on purpose. The man hums, rubbing his thumbs on the Irishman’s hips, and he frowns to himself. He looks to be deep in thought, so the boy asks what’s on his mind.

 

“I’ll never forgive myself for what happened.”

 

Jack blinks, sapphire locked in emerald, and there’s a long silence after that. The boy purses his lips, thinking. “He kissed me, you know?” he whispers and Anti grimaces. “He was going to keep going. I know he would… He told me. I dream of him and-”

 

“Seá-”

 

“No, I want you to listen.” Their voices are calm and so quiet, but there’s a weight in every word. A scar. Anti tigthens his hands around the boy’s waist but he closes his mouth, letting him speak. “He was charming and I was hurting. I wanted to be away from you after what you said. But despite everything, when I realized what was happening, I kept thinking of you. He touched me and all I could think of was  _ you. _ Of how much of a fool I was. I was so scared… I do forgive you, I already did. I’m so fucking happy we’re  _ here, _ together. I am. But I don’t want you to hurt me like that ever again.”

 

“I won’t,” Anti replies, leaning down to rest his forehead against Jack’s. “I promise that I won’t. I want to cherish you.”

 

The brown-haired man huffs a smile, heart fluttering, and they brush their lips against each other before closing that small gap. Anti cups his face and they tilt their heads to deepen their kiss. Jack sighs, both pulling back with a sound, and he caresses the man’s left cheek. He swallows down these emotions, pushing away bitter memories, and he mutters about what they’ll do today instead. The freckled man listens, agreeing to everything, and he keeps hugging Jack in bed for a long time. He buries his face in the crook of the Irishman’s neck, saying he liked last night, and the boy brushes a hand on the man’s back with a hum. It’s a lazy morning, with tousled sheets and soft whispers. There’s no rush to do anything and they take a warm shower together, mostly just embracing each other under the water stream. They’re both covered in hickeys and red marks, and Jack likes how Anti pecks his neck over and over. He trims his beard while the man dries his hair before brushing it, and it’s peaceful.

 

Jack goes to his room to get dressed in a black shirt before picking Róisín up. He cleans her eyes and changes her, kissing his daughter’s cheek while saying a hello. She makes sharp little sounds, waving her arms, and he asks if she’s excited for today. Róisín just smiles and he brings the baby with him, meeting Anti halfway for breakfast. They take their time and the man suggests calling Andreas to watch her, but Jack doesn’t want to be away from her too much. She will go with them. The ginger-haired man doesn’t question him, just nods. They eat mostly in silence and he plays with the baby in the living room while Anti talks on the cell phone. Jack hears Justin’s name before the man leaves the room, so he doesn’t mind, thinking it’s probably about work. They only get ready to go out after lunch and Róisín is dressed in thick, warm clothes. The Irishman wears Anti’s grey scar and a jacket, ready for the cold. The freckled man wears his black long coat, with the caramel gloves. Hair still tied up in a bun.

 

They go looking for a Christmas tree first and Jack’s excited, wanting to show Róisín everything. There’s a large parking lot next to a mall, so Tyler takes them there. Anti carries the baby in his arms, letting Jack go ahead, and the boy’s eyes shine at the tall trees. There are a couple of people looking at those too and the Irishman takes his time, pointing at them and talking to Anti. It’s cold but there’s no sign of snow yet. The artist says he never bought a proper tree like that and he’s not used to decorating the house. Jack wants to show him how good it feels to be part of these things and Anti stares at him with warm green eyes while he rambles about what they could do. Maybe they could have a big one in the living room but a second one where the piano is. There’s nothing in that place, so they could set up a table to have dinner with everyone and the man could play for them. The Irishman shakes some trees slightly, checking if they’re well and not dry, and the guy who’s selling them helps as well. He keeps glancing at the tallest one every now and then, thinking it’s beautiful, with a dark blue-green shade, and Anti hums. He stops in front of it, cupping Róisín’s head, and he looks back at Jack.

 

“No way,” the boy laughs. “It must be over ten feet tall! It’s really expensive.”

 

“Mm, you like it. I thought you knew that you shouldn’t worry about numbers.”

 

Jack snorts, dragging a hand over his face, but he checks that tree. Anti turns to the salesman, saying they will take it, and he orders a tree stand as well. Tyler walks up to them, scratching the back of his head, and he says something about calling the guys to help him bring that to the mansion. The Irishman apologizes, knowing it’s too big and there’s still a second one, but Tyler just chuckles. The car is not that big for them either, so the man will make a call. Anti makes a motion with his chin then, wanting them to go inside the mall. Róisín can’t stay outside in this cold for too long. Jack sets up the baby’s stroller and the artist places her there, giving her a pacifier and her bunny. The place is all decorated with Christmas lights and ornaments, and Róisín looks up at all these things. Anti scowls, realizing there’s a lot of people, but he follows the boy. They see little acorns to hang up in the tree, along with snowflakes and reindeers. They spend a long time looking at these things and Jack makes sure they get everything that they both want.

 

Their cart is full with garlands, wreaths, socks and fake candles. Anti grumbles at the amount of lights the boy places into the cart and the Irishman whispers they need another one. The ginger-haired man sighs but goes find it, only to come back with a plushie of a polar bear with a Christmas hat as well. Jack watches him give it to Róisín, waiting to see if she likes it, and they both smile when she takes it. It’s a soft one, no actual fur around it. He calls Anti’s name, staring up at him, and he moves closer to caresses his cheek. The man leans down for a chaste kiss and the Irishman grins, content that they can do this in public now. They find a playmat for Róisín, with music and hanging toys that are very colorful, and also a wedge pillow. She’s been more fussy, not wanting to be lying down for too long. Jack also gets her a jumperoo, so she can sit for a few minutes to play. It’ll hold the baby and she can swing a little too. Anti once again makes sure they don’t need to carry anything and they will deliver everything in the next morning.

 

Róisín gets tired when more time passes and Jack doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so they call it a day. She doesn’t want to be lied down either so he’s carrying her in his arms while Anti pushes the empty stroller. The man purses his lips, glancing at them every now and then, and Jack sends him a look. They stop at the main door, waiting for Tyler, and the sun is setting. Anti shuffles on his feet with a scowl, opening and closing his hands, but he says nothing. Jack doesn’t push it and, when the chauffeur arrives, they get inside the car and go home. The baby is asleep when they walk back inside the mansion and the Irishman smiles upon seeing Ethan and Tucker. He completely forgot they would be there, being a weekend, and he missed them. They greet him quietly, baby between them, and Anti takes Róisín upstairs so she can be in her crib. Jack talks to them about the trees, that are outside the porch, and Ethan is content they’ll be doing something on Christmas. The boy obviously invites everyone, wanting them there, and Tucker is already discussing a menu with him.

 

Anti comes back still a bit tense and Jack asks what’s wrong. The artist looks at the men for a moment and they excuse themselves, giving them privacy. The ginger-haired man swallows.

 

“I made a reservation at a restaurant for tonight. I want you to-” he murmurs but shakes his head. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

 

Jack’s eyes widen and he huffs with a smile, thinking that’s why he was at the phone earlier today. “Are you  _ asking _ me out? On a date?” The man hums, nodding, and the boy’s grin falls a little. “What about Ró? I can’t leave her alone.”

 

The freckled man says something about Tucker having a niece and the boys could watch her for a couple of hours. She’s a good girl, fast asleep. Jack bites his bottom lip, trying to hold back that smile but failing, and he nods. Anti grunts, satisfied, and they kiss before going upstairs. The Irishman wants to take a shower before changing to something less casual. He dresses in a white formal shirt, rolling up the sleeves, and black skinny jeans. The artist wears a dark green, turtleneck shirt under his coat, and he ties his hair in a low ponytail. Jack loves when he does that and he likes how it’s getting longer, copper locks reaching down to his shoulder blades. Tucker and Ethan are more than happy to see their boss going out and making things right, so they don’t mind taking care of Róisín. The brown-haired man warns them to update him of everything, showing where her stuff is and what to do. Anti adjusts the black gloves in his hands, at the stars landing, and they go out once again. Jack really liked to hear the man asking him on date. Usually he just says where they will be and that’s it. The Irishman holds his hand, content.

 

Jack will never stop being amazed over the places Anti takes him. They’re always so extravagant and he never saw himself going to a fancy restaurant like this one. Anti places Jack’s hand around his arm, guiding him inside, and everyone treats them nicely, bowing for a brief second. They light up when seeing the artist, calling him Mr. Ó Dubháin and speaking in french. The Irishman is dumbstruck, staring up at his lover speaking in another language, and they seem happy to see Anti there again. They sit down at a table near a large window, showing the beautiful garden outside, and the lighting is dim. Warm. There’s enough space not to feel crowded and it’s rather quiet. It’s intimate and the freckled man is already asking for the best wine that they have. Jack snorts, dragging a hand over his face, and Anti raises an eyebrow while asking what is it.

 

“Nothing, it’s just…” the boy chuckles, staring at those green eyes of his. “It’s you.”

 

“Is that a good thing?”

 

The Irishman hums, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the table, hand against a cheek. “Yes… Yes, it is.”

 

They share more childhood stories, especially about Christmas. Jack talks about Megan and his other brothers, when they were young, and how everyone would want hot chocolate almost every day of December. Anti and Andreas liked to sneak in the night and try to guess which gifts they were getting. They sip from their drinks, eating delicious good, and Jack’s amazed by how beautiful it is. There’s a small plate with soup at some point and Anti is tightening his hold around the spoon so he won’t shake too much, but the boy can tell he’s getting anxious. The Irishman puts his own spoon aside and picks up his plate, just fucking drinking from it, tilting his head. The freckled man snorts, shaking his head, but he does the same thing. They both chuckle, not really caring if there’s someone looking at them. Everything is so good and the boy says that the man needs to take him out on dates more often. Anti places a hand over the table, taking Jack’s hand on his, and he murmurs something about doing anything that makes him happy. The brown-haired man rubs his thumb there, smiling, and it feels like a weight left his shoulders.

 

They brush their legs under the table, sharing warm glances every now and then, and they have dessert. Jack whispers he can still eat him out tonight and Anti almost chokes in a piece of strawberry, making the boy laugh. Tucker sends him a message, saying Róisín woke up for a moment and he made sure everything was fine, but she’s fast asleep again. They finish dinner without a rush, then, and Anti pays for everything without a second glance at the price. Jack flushes and they leave the restaurant holding hands. The artist doesn’t shy away from any touches all night and he takes off his long coat to place it over the boy’s shoulders, not wanting him to feel too cold outside. It makes Jack’s heart clench and he welcomes that warmth, soft fabric brushing against him that smells of the man. Citric. He even hugs Anti at the front door, both waiting for Tyler, and he buries his face in the crook of the man’s neck. He kisses him there and the artist wraps his arms around the Irishman’s waist, humming at the light pecks.

 

When they go back home, they thank Tucker and Ethan for watching on Róisín and the boys say goodbye. Jack still checks on his baby but Anti distracts him with more kisses, tugging on the long coat. They take off their clothes in the hallway, between loud sighs and kissing, and they fall on the man’s bed. It’s something Jack doesn’t mind doing it. Over and over again. He giggles and the artist touches him everywhere, holding him close. They tilt their heads to deepen a kiss, tongues brushing, and he moans in the night. Jack asks if he can sit on the man’s face and Anti freezes for a second, swallowing, but nods. He makes sure his hair is tied up well before lying down on his back and the Irishman’s heart races when placing his thighs around the artist’s head. He’s facing Anti’s body, so he caresses his chest down to his abdomen. They’re both flushed, chest moving up and down, and they’re half hard. Once again, they take things slow at first, and Jack encourages Anti. He bites his bottom lip when the man brushes his split tongue against his asshole, and he moans when there are fingers digging into his thighs. The copper-haired man eats him out and the boy strokes him between pants.

 

They both move their hips, Anti’s lifting up in the air, and Jack leans down to suck on his cock. The man grunts, pulling his legs up for support, and his hot breath against Jack’s entrance gives him goosebumps. They hold each other in bed, mattress shifting with them, and their moans are muffled. The Irishman lets Anti thrust forward to get more of him, fucking his mouth, and the man moves his tongue faster. Jack pulls back to swallow, mouth falling open and letting out heavy gasps. His heart beats fast, a sweet burn below his navel, and he grabs the sheets when Anti keeps greedily licking him, tongue curling. A sharp sound leaves the boy’s lips and he rests his cheek against the artist’s thigh, staring at nothing through hazy eyes. Jack swears under his breath, sliding a hand down to jerk himself, and Anti caresses his ass cheeks. He pants, eyes rolling back when touching the head of his cock, and he mumbles something about not being able to hold it. 

 

“You can cum,” Anti stops to speak and, fuck, his voice is hoarse. Strained. Jack feels his breathing below and he whines. “Keep touching yourself.”

 

“F-Fuck…” the boy breathes. “Oh, god.”

 

Jack chokes a sob, moving his hips and his face scrunches up in pleasure, leaking precum. His breathing turns sharp, body tensing up, and he mewls when jizzing over Anti’s chest. He spasms, thighs trembling, and the freckled man pushes a thumb into his ass. Jack groans, slowly lifting his hips to see the man smirking. His mouth and chin are wet, face pink and glassy eyes, and the Irishman huffs while dragging a hand over his face. Fucking hell. They change places and the boy lies down this time, with Anti on top. They sigh, tangling their legs, and the artist pushes his hard cock into the Irishman. They lean down for a kiss and Jack moans, tasting himself while Anti fucks him. Their skin smack and they breathe into their mouths. Despite being so raw and harsh, the man pounding into him, there’s so much soft kisses and warm eyes. Jack lets him seek his own release, shuffling in bed, and he cups the artist’s cheeks. There are ginger strands falling over his face and he pushes them away, smiling all lazy. Anti grunts but there are light moans leaving his lips, and he buries his face in the crook of the Irishman’s neck.

 

Jack hugs him tight, legs locked around his waist and wanting to melt in bed, and Anti cums with a sob. The boy unties his hair, letting it fall this time, and he caresses his man. The artist pecks his cheek over and over, brushing his lips there, and he shudders while filling the boy up. The Irishman feels warm and his glassy eyes flutter, taking a deep breath. The ginger-haired man murmurs something that Jack doesn’t quite catch, so he asks for him to repeat. Anti purses his lips but he opens his mouth, panting. Long eyelashes batting against freckled skin.

 

“Mio amore,” he breathes. “I said… You’re my love…”

 

There’s a sharp pang in the boy’s heart, so full of emotions, and they exchange a look while filling their lungs with air. Green meeting blue.

 

“I like that,” Jack whispers back, lazily tracing the man’s rough lips. “I like that a lot.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what dyou mean this is the third time a chapter ends with some smut?? pff what?? n-no... shh


	21. Chapter 21

A week passes and Anti’s been helping Jack to take care of the house.

 

They’re sitting in bed, folding some clothes in the cold morning, and Róisín is lying on her playmat. They can see her from there and Anti’s quiet, with a scowl. Jack brushes his fingers against a new yellow onesie that fits his baby, now that she’s growing, and it has sunflowers patterns all over. He folds it with care and looks at the freckled man, seeing his ginger hair thrown to the other side, exposing his neck and right side. He’s shirtless, only with sweatpants. The Irishman takes a minute to just admire him, thinking about what they’ve been doing these days. He flushes a little, knowing they’re spending quite a lot of time in bed, but his heart is full when recalling a sight of Anti washing the dishes and cleaning the house with him. The artist has been sketching the boy whenever he can and he’s been calm. Róisín loves her new stuff and she’s moving a lot more, holding her toys a little more steady and paying close attention. Still, Anti’s frown so early in the morning is not exactly welcome.

 

“A penny for your thoughts,” Jack says.

 

The man glances at him and he grunts. “I need to paint.”

 

Anti didn’t work on anything after that event, just sketching on paper. Those paintings were supposed to be a display for what was yet to come and Justin even wants him to accept an interview. The freckled man wants to do something and he even murmurs about the boy. Jack’s flattered, but Anti doesn’t have to keep drawing him if he doesn’t feel like it. He’s sure that something will come to the artist, that he’ll feel inspired. Perhaps playing some music and just relaxing could help. The ginger-haired man finishes folding a shirt and stares at him, shaking his head.

 

“I always want to draw you,” he whispers and Jack snorts, smiling.

 

“Am I your muse, then?”

 

“Yes,” Anti doesn’t even hesitate and the boy’s heart flutters. “Yes, you are.”

 

The Irishman’s cheeks redden and he huffs. Alright. If he thinks that, they could try something later. Jack offers to pose for him and Anti hums, nodding. They just finish taking care of the house first and the boy watches Róisín play on her jumperoo. The artist picks her up at some point, pretending to hold her like a plane, and he’s very slow and careful when playing with her. She all but laughs, wiggling her arms, and she lies on her stomach too. Anti covers her with kisses, murmuring all kinds of nicknames, and they all snuggle in bed after feeding her. Jack looks down at his baby and there’s a bittersweet smile on his face. He knows what day it is, but he doesn’t bring it up. Not yet. He just lets her grab his finger and the freckled man stares at them for a moment. The Irishman whispers she’s going to be crawling in no time and that thought makes his own heart clench, imagining her running around the house. Anti just hums, a hint of a smile. Eyes warm.

 

It’s only when they put Róisín in her crib for a nap that they go to the workshop. They both cleaned that place together, taking out the broken frames and scrubbing the wooden floor. It feels different walking down there every time, after Anti had told him about what happened. There’s this sorrow lingering in the air that the boy can’t never quite get rid of. The artist must feel that too, always being more quiet, and his movements are slow. As if he’s afraid of lighting  a spark in that room. There are new canvas and paint, a table covered with pencils and mugs, and Anti ties his hair up with a brush. Jack bites his bottom lip and looks for a stool, placing it in the middle of the workshop, and he glances at that painting of the brothers in the back. Anti’s face burned off. He clears his throat and focuses back on his boyfriend, smiling. Jack looks down at himself.

 

“So? How do you want me?”

 

“Mm, I like that question,” Anti murmurs and the boy rolls his eyes. “Strip off your clothes.”

 

“I thought you were going to paint me.”

 

The freckled man says he’ll just look at the boy and Jack hums. He rubs the back of his neck, heart skipping a bit even though they’ve seen each other naked before. The brown-haired man takes off his shirt, unzipping his pants, and Anti leans back against a wall while watching him. He tilts his head when Jack bends over to remove his pants and boxer briefs. The boy winks at him, despite his flushed cheeks, and a hint of anxiety drops down to his stomach. Anti walks up to him, floor creaking, and he sighs while touching Jack’s hips. The Irishman lets the man guide him to the stool, sitting on it, and the artist gently move his arms the way he wants. The Irishman has a hand over his chest, an arm down between his legs to hide his private parts, head tilting slightly back. The artist cups the boy’s face, kissing him lightly, and Jack sighs into his mouth. Anti pulls away, walking backwards, and the brown-haired man already misses his touch. He tries staying still, though, finding this pose comfortable. His shoulders are hunched down, face a bit to the side. It’s intimate, just them looking at each other. Exposed.

 

Anti takes his pallet in hands and there’s a canvas in front of him. His green eyes are like a beacon in this room and Jack easily gets lost in them. They exchange a grin from across the room and the man paints, a hand moving in gentle strokes. The Irishman takes a deep breath, just watching, and it’s mostly quiet. Soft movements and knowing glances. Anti really is a messy painter, smearing his hands in no time, and that makes Jack chuckle. He likes that. The boy shifts a bit after a while and the man’s expression is different while he works. Anti’s gaze is more intense, focused. Sharp. He doesn’t really scowl either but there’s a hint of tension on his face. It’s beautiful to see him like this. Jack lets his thoughts wander, pursing his lips, and he sighs. That catches the freckled man’s attention and he sees those green eyes behind the canvas, a few strands of hair fallen over his face. When he doesn’t look away, Jack knows he’s asking what’s the matter without words.

 

“You better make me pretty,” the boy says instead, smiling and glancing down at his soft stomach for a second.

 

Anti grunts, narrowing his eyes, and there’s a smudge of paint on his forehead. He puts the pallet down, brush back in a mug, and he slowly makes his way up to the boy. Jack doesn’t dare to move, just watching him, and the artist cups his face. The Irishman closes his eyes when the man brushes his thumbs there, caressing him, and Anti leans down for a kiss. Jack hums, opening his mouth when the man presses his fingers on his jaw, both tilting their heads. Their beards scratch and their lips make a sound, heart skipping a beat. The brown-haired man shudders from those light touches. So tender. Anti caresses his arms and pecks his neck, hands roaming through his body and smearing him with paint. The copper-haired man goes down on his knees to kiss Jack’s soft stomach, whispering something about porcelain skin, and the Irishman flushes with a smile. Anti wraps his arms around the Irishman’s waist, resting his face above the boy’s navel.

 

“Your beauty is far beyond what I can do, mio amore. It’ll never be perfect like you.” Jack’s face scrunches up in emotion, not expecting that, and he holds back a whimper. Anti looks up at the Irishman and it’s so odd, yet gorgeous, to have him on his knees like that. For him. “But there’s something on your mind.”

 

Jack sighs, brushing his knuckles on the man’s marred cheek, and he doesn’t say anything right away. It stings first, in his heart, and the corners of his eyes burn with unshed tears. He’s used to that. He knows. But it doesn’t make it any less unwelcome.

 

“Today, uh,” he whispers, swallowing. “Today marks three months since my sister passed away. I… I haven’t visited her since, so… That feeling is much stronger now. I d-don’t… I don’t know.”

 

Anti also stays quiet, just blinking at him, and he doesn’t stop caressing the Irishman’s back. The brown-haired man inhales deeply, whispering an apology for ruining the moment, and the artist just hums. He opens his mouth to speak and Jack’s taken aback by his words, heart aching.

 

“Would you like to visit her?”

 

“I… Would y-” the boy stutters, throat closing. “Would you do that for me? C-Can you be there for me?”

 

“Always.”

 

Jack chuckles, a tear escaping his eye, and Anti brushes his thumb there to wipe it away. He moves up to kiss the boy again, over and over, and the Irishman whispers he can continue but that he’s covering him with paint. The freckled man pecks his neck, running a hand down Jack’s chest to smear it with blue, and just then he steps back. The brown-haired man is all flushed and he tries to hold back a grin, biting his bottom lip. Anti goes back to his previous place, fixing his hair, and Jack stares at his slender body. Sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The Irishman places a hand over his chest again, calming down his heart, and he blinks tears away. He relaxes and he focuses on what’s in front of him. The ginger-haired man changes canvas at some point, wanting to just have a rough sketch of another pose. Jack covers his face with a hand, one leg stretching out, and his curved down. Anti puts a brush between his lips and smears the boy with more paint, liking how it looks on his skin. The Irishman is a mess of yellow, blue and white.

 

It’s lovely to be part of Anti’s art.

 

A personal canvas.

 

They decide to go out in the afternoon and Jack lets the man carry him upstairs once they’re done for now, burying his face in the crook of his neck. The boy takes a shower, getting rid of all those colors, and Anti checks on Róisín. He’s glad that they bought a new baby monitor, that stays under her mattress. It’s more peaceful to sleep knowing an alarm will ring in their room if something happens, if she doesn’t move for a long period of time. It’s much better and Jack’s grateful that the man insisted on getting that. The brown-haired man gets dressed in black jeans and t-shirt, with a thick sweater over it. Anti has that long coat, also in black, and he goes to find Róisín’s warm clothes that are also of the same tone. The house is quiet, just them dressing her up and moving around the room. The freckled man lets his hair fall loose, untangling his curls, and they wait for Tyler to pick them up.

 

Jack’s the one who tells the man where to go and he clenches his hands over his thighs, anxious. Afraid that all that pain will come back and stay. That it’ll be like a punch in the stomach, air leaving his lungs, and that he’ll realize how much of a failure he is. Jack swallows and Anti takes his hand from across the seat, rubbing his thumb there. The Irishman takes a deep breath, entwining their fingers, and he looks out the window. It takes some time, but there’s a black gate in the distance that the boy recognizes. Tyler parks the car with care, saying he’ll be waiting and that there’s no rush, and Jack thanks him. Anti steps out of the car, holding the baby, and it takes a moment for the boy to follow. He guides them inside, opening the gate, and it creaks with this cool weather. They walk for a bit, passing by gravestones, and the grass brushes against their shoes. Róisín clings onto Anti, holding her bunny, and Jack stops when spotting what they’ve been looking for.

 

Their breaths form clouds mid-air and their steps are short, slow. The Irishman wraps a hand around Anti’s arm and they stand in front of his sister’s grave. Jack’s throat hurts again but there’s a soft smile on his face, teary eyes reading her name. He doesn’t say anything right away, just letting his emotions settle down, and it’s not as overwhelming as he thought it would be. It hurts, yes. It does. Jack was afraid it would be suffocating, to the point he wouldn’t be able to do anything but weep once more. He tries to be strong for Róisín and he knows that she won’t remember this. Anti is patient and the Irishman lets out a strained _Hey_. As silly as it is, he introduces the man to Megan and he murmurs how much her daughter has grown. She’s five months now and it’s amazing how fast time passes. Jack catches himself wanting it to last longer, wanting to have Róisín in his arms a little more, but he also can’t wait to see his little girl doing amazing things. Their cheeks are flushed and Anti adjusts the baby’s scarf around her neck.

 

Jack puts his hands in his pockets, sniffing and nodding to himself while looking around. The cool breeze softly hits their faces, hair softly moving. Anti asks if he has any picture of Megan and the Irishman takes out his cell phone, cheeks redden even more when the man notices that background image, and he unlocks it. He finds one of the last pictures that he took of her. It was after she gave birth to Róisín and they had finally come back to the apartment. She was still well. Tired, but full of love in her eyes for that kid. She’s smiling at the camera, holding her baby close to her face, and the Irishman smiles more at the memory. Anti looks back at the grave and then at the brown-haired man.

 

“She would be proud of you,” he whispers and that hits Jack hard. His vision turns into a blur and tears immediately stream down his sapphire eyes, smearing his cheeks. The boy’s lips quiver but he keeps staring at her name. “I’m sure of it. You’ve been nothing but strong and Róisín is a wonderful girl.”

 

“S-She would slap you in the face, _at least_ f-five times!” he half chuckles, half sobs, finally looking at Anti in the eyes. “She would tell me to either straighten you up or kick your ass. Maybe both!”

 

“Sounds like we’d get along just fine.” The man raises an eyebrow, shrugging. “You have a fire in your eyes. I’m sure she had it too.”

 

They exchange a look and the Irishman wipes his tears away, heart aching, and Róisín babbles while shaking her arms. The artists gives her to Jack and the boy kisses her rosy cheek. The copper-haired man wraps an arm around his waist, planting a kiss on top of the boy’s head, and they sigh. He really hopes Anti is right, though, and he feels a small sense of peace. The Irishman knits his eyebrows, seeing a white speck in the air, and he looks up at the sky with a huff. It’s snowing, very lightly, but that brings warmth into his heart. Anti brushes his knuckles against Róisín’s cheek, trying to show her the snow, and Jack smiles with teary eyes. He sniffs, face red, and they stay there just a little longer. The boy kisses his baby’s forehead, tugging on her beanie, and he whispers that he wants to go. They gently walk away, Anti still holding him close, and the snow falls in December. Jack’s thankful that the man came with him. He needed this. When they get inside the car, he rests his head against the freckled man’s shoulder, sighing and closing his eyes.

 

Back in the mansion, they take off their coat and sweater, and the Irishman goes to wash his face. Anti places Róisín on her playmat and, when they’re all in the living room, they eye that tall tree in a corner. Jack asks if they can decorate it now, something nice to distract him. The second tree up in the piano room is already done, with a large table next to it. They’ve been waiting some more for that one, though, and there are lights all over the house. Garlands and tinsels. Anti nods, murmuring that they will need a ladder, and the boy snorts while gathering all their ornaments. There’s that calm again, that routine of them together and just working quietly. Jack can’t help but share more stories, talking about his sister and how much she loved Christmas. Anti listens, holding the lights while the boy puts them around the tree, and Róisín’s cheerful sounds are in the background of it all. The Irishman’s face is puffy from crying, eyes sore, but he feels better. The artist brushes a hand against his thigh while he’s up on the ladder, kissing him there, and that makes the boy giggle.

 

They put reindeers and arcons ornaments, balls of every color, and Jack says Anti will win a kiss if he put the star in the end. The ginger-haired man grumbles but does that, not forgetting to turn on the lights so they can see the result. It looks beautiful, with so many little details. Jack never thought he’d have something like that again and he kisses Anti just like promised. He cups the man’s face and there are arms wrapping around him. The freckled man hums and their lips move lightly. The Irishman whispers a _Thank you_ between their mouths, smiling, and Anti bumps his nose against the boy’s cheek. He lifts Jack up in the air, making him yelp, and he sways them while still pecking their lips. The brown-haired man laughs between kisses, throwing his arms over the man’s shoulders, and he feels warm. Content.

 

Anti calls him _mio amore_ and whispers more words in italian that the boy can’t quite catch. It’s endearing and Jack likes how that deep, hoarse voice makes him shudder. He buries his face in the crook of the artist’s neck and Anti walks them towards the couch, lying him there. The artist stays between his legs, resting his cheek against the Irishman’s stomach, and they just breathe. Jack runs his hands through the man’s ginger locks, caressing him, and they watch Róisín from there. How good it feels to be like that, lying on the couch with a man that he loves. Next to his daughter. He keeps touching Anti’s hair, listening to him practically purr and hug his waist. No shame in hiding that burned side. Not anymore. Jack looks down at him, remembering what he said in the cemetery. He nudges the artist, asking what he meant by that fire, and Anti moves his head to stare back at him. Long eyelashes batting against freckled skin, soft expression.

 

“There’s this… flame in your soul,” he mutters, mismatched green eyes focused on blue. “It shines bright and I want to burn on it. You’re breathtaking. You’re so passionate and bold. I’m sure your sister had that same fire, but then again… I do have a favorite.”

 

“Y-” Jack stutters, heart clenching, and he smiles wide. “You’re so fucking cheesy, I’m… Good lord.”

 

The Irishman’s shoulders shake when he laughs and Anti shuffles a bit with that movement, lying on top of him. The artist just hums, a small smile on his face, and the boy calls him silly. He loves it, though. He loves how Anti finds a way to express his emotions like that. Jack playfully says he should write that down and the freckled man just nods, going back to his previous position. The brown-haired man shakes his head, fingers tangled in copper locks, and their tree shines beautifully in the corner of the room. They see snow falling through a window, world slowly turning white, and it’s comfortable. Jack takes a deep breath, resting the back of his head on a cushion, and he just focuses on them. There’s still a lot he wants to do. He can’t wait for Christmas and to have everyone together. He knows that Anti will help him and he’s just so excited.

 

For once, he’s not afraid of what’s yet to come.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just wanted to let you know that after the next chapter, on December 21, I'll be taking a holiday break. I'm not that ahead anymore and I've been getting anxious about it, worried that something is wrong and that I won't have time. I don't wanna write for the sake of posting every 3 days and rushing things. I think I need some time to think and just relax. I've been writing CoF for almost 3 months nonstop and I need to figure things out. It's not that far away from the end either, I know exactly what I want to do but I just need to find more motivation. Since I'm going on a trip on January 3rd, though, I'll only be back on January 8th. It's a little more than two weeks in hiatus and I hope that's not too long of a waiting! Just know that I'll be back! I hope you guys understand this! There's still one more update on Friday! :)


	22. Chapter 22

“Is this good?”

 

Jack takes his eyes away from a batch of cookies to pay attention to the man, walking towards him while throwing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. He leans against the counter, looking at what Anti is doing and he touches the pastry.

 

“It needs more flour,” he says. “Just a little.”

 

“Okay.”

 

It’s December 24th and they’ve been baking all morning. They stopped for lunch but now they’re back to it. Tyler and Ethan will be there soon to help and the house smells of delicious food already. Anti’s marred hands are covered in flour, making a peach pie all by himself for the first time, and there’s snow falling outside. The garden is all white and everything feels incredibly cozy. He checks on the baby monitor for a second, seeing Róisín in her baby swing from the screen, and he smiles while working in the kitchen. Anti takes a couple of breaks, whenever he starts feeling too overwhelmed in there, and his hair is tied up in a bun. The Irishman made some preparations for their dinner yesterday, wanting to be ahead, and there are Christmas songs playing from the boy’s cell phone on the counter. The ginger-haired man scowls at Michael Bublé’s voice in the air and Jack hums the lyrics under his breath. He places the gingerbread cookies aside to cool off, before decorating them, and he steals a kiss on the cheek from Anti.

 

The artist calls him out and Jack runs to the other side mid laughter. Anti tells the Irishman to come back, chasing him around the kitchen island, and he grabs the boy by the waist. Jack giggles more, throwing his arms over the man’s shoulders, and his heart’s full. Anti kisses him while cupping his face, smudging his cheeks with flour, and they sigh into their mouths. Their beards scratch and they smile while tilting their heads. The doorbell rings and the freckled man tigthens their hold, grunting but breaking their kiss. Jack bites his bottom lip, not being able to stop a stupid grin from showing, and Anti pecks him on more time before leaving the kitchen. The brown-haired man clears his throat and he hears Ethan’s voice from afar. Tucker enters the room with wide eyes, saying his boss didn’t frown at them once, and the boy snorts. They hug and the brunet shows up soon after, all smiles. The artist stays back in the living room for a bit, taking care of Róisín, and Jack doesn’t feel stressed now that he has help.

 

He spares himself a moment to take a shower and get dressed properly, reminding Anti to do the same. He puts on a red sweater and dark pants, feeling content with where he is. For the past few days, Anti and Jack have been spending so much time together. They had more dates and dinner, they watched movies and shared their warmth in bed. The Irishman has been posing for Anti a lot more since that first time in the workshop and the artist has so many canvas already. He agreed to do the interview and Justin will set a date for his new gallery opening. Jack is excited for him and he smiles to himself, leaving the bedroom and going downstairs. Anti shows up a moment later with his hair loose, wearing his own Christmas sweater. It’s black, with red and white details, and there are reindeers all over it. He’s definitely only wearing it because the boy wanted to and Jack laughs at his scowl from across the lobby. He’s holding Róisín, though, all clean from a bath, and the Irishman’s heart melts at her outfit. She’s dressed as an elf, with a pointy ears hat and shoes. Red and white stripes under a green jacket and pants.

 

The brown-haired man puts a hand over his chest before walking up to them, kissing his daughter’s rosy cheek and calling her beautiful. Anti seems amused by her clothes and she just babbles, playing with a strand of copper hair. Jack leans forward so the man can kiss his forehead and he calls the boys to rest. The Irishman made Anti invite Justin and Tyler, and they all arrive after a while. There are presents under the tree and hot chocolate mugs on the coffee table. Tucker is already taking pictures of Róisín and Ethan is chatting with the freckled man. When the doorbell rings once more, Jack takes care of that. Andreas and Robin greet him with a big smile, and the boy finally meets their boyfriend. The Irishman sees a very short man, wearing a pink skirt and blue jacket over a white crop top shirt. His face is clean, freshly shaved, and Jack looks down at his high heels. They all hug and wish them Merry Christmas, and the boy eyes Robin funny. The guy just shrugs with a knowing grin and they step inside the house.

 

The little boy tells him to call him Bunbun but Jack refuses to do so, shaking his head but chuckling. He pouts and Andreas scratches the back of his head, flushing and trying to introduce them right. The younger brother’s choker is red, matching his dark green jumper, and Robin ruffles his hair. Jack has no idea how that kid in a skirt is not feeling cold but, oh well. Anti squints his eyes when they walk into the living room and everyone is finally together. There are so many people, the Irishman can’t help but smile at the sight. Tucker records everything that he can and the boy tilts his head when Bunbun bends over to grab a mug of hot chocolate. Anti shows up on his side, sipping from his own drink, and he sighs.

 

“Huh… He’s wearing pink panties,” Jack whispers, mouth falling open, and the small boy sits on Robin’s lap without a care. The freckled man nods, as if he’s used to it. “How come we never do that? Why are we like this?”

 

“Be thankful that he’s wearing something underneath that skirt,” Anti murmurs, leaning closer. “I’ve seen things I would like to unsee. It’s been years and I still don’t know his name. I’m too afraid to look into his bag.”

 

“Noted.”

 

Andreas calls his brother, saying they should do a trick, and Anti perks up at that while going towards him. Jack drags a hand over his face, already grimacing when the younger man takes a knife from behind his back. The ginger-haired man leaves for a second, coming back with a peach, and they both find a place in a corner. Andreas puts the fruit over his head, straightening himself and nodding at the artist. They’re all excited in the room, some of them worried, and Jack shakes his head. Anti grins, spinning the knife with a hand before throwing it at his brother. It hits the peach right in the middle, sinking into the wall, and everyone cheers. Andreas winks and Jack half chuckles, half groans, complaining about another hole in the house.

 

“We won’t do it anymore,” Anti says.

 

“Whipped!” the younger brother shouts and the copper-haired man scowls.

 

“Jack is right, though. We are guests,” Robin says in the background and Bunbun nods.

 

Andreas freezes for a second, putting away the knife. “Fine…”

 

It’s Anti’s turn to say _whipped_ before running out of the room. The younger brother screams and they chase each other around the house. Jack leaves them be, picking up Róisín and sitting on an armchair to catch up with his friends. He sees the brothers in the garden at some point, throwing snowballs at each other, and there’s that feeling again. The Irishman’s heart clenches and he couldn’t wish for anything else. He hugs his baby closer, wanting to remember all of this with fondness. Robin holds his hand, rubbing his thumb there, and they exchange a smile. Róisín stays with the Swedish man for a little bit and she seems curious over the new kid, smiling at her all cute. Jack brings them cookies and he stops by the doorway when the brothers come back with flushed cheeks. He huffs, noticing snow on the man’s hair and sweater, and he pats him. Anti leans into the touch, letting the boy clean his hair before the snow melts away. Justin clears his throat, calling their attentions, and he points up. The Irishman looks up a the doorframe and he frowns, seeing a mistletoe.

 

“I… I didn’t put this here… I didn’t buy it...”

 

Anti purses his lips, glaring at Andreas from across the room, and the brother just shrugs with a grin. Jack’s cheeks redden and he whispers that the man doesn’t have to do anything. They haven’t really kissed in front of their friends and he doesn’t know how Anti would feel about this near his manager. The ginger-haired man hums, cupping the boy’s cheek with a hand, and he leans forward. The Irishman’s heart skips a beat but he closes his eyes, opening his mouth for a kiss. Anti pulls him closer, touching the back of his neck, and Jack wraps his arms around the man’s waist. He’s never done this with anyone, under a mistletoe. The artist’s lips are cold from being outside, but his warm tongue slides inside to deepen their kiss. Anti moans under his breath, barely there, and they grin when everyone makes horrifying sounds in the background. Some of them whistle, others yell that that’s enough. That there’s a baby in the room. Jack chuckles, their lips making a sound when pulling back, and Anti smiles with his mismatched green eyes.

 

They all take pictures in front of the tree as well, Tucker making sure of that happening. Jack holds Róisín in his arms and Anti wraps an arm around his waist, both looking at the camera. The freckled man is a bit uneasy with all of that, not liking to show his face, but the Irishman keeps checking on him. It’s a moment they want to remember, so Anti stays, fixing the baby’s clothes. Tucker snaps a picture when they aren’t looking, too distracted with one another. It’s just of Anti kissing his forehead, thanking the boy for being so patient, and Róisín is looking up at him with her bright blue eyes. They all gather around to have one of all of them together and, after that, they have dinner.

 

Jack’s glad that they set a table in that piano room. Everyone enjoys the food and there’s plenty of options, with peach and lemon pie as well. Anti plays the piano and Ethan sits next to him, singing in the room. The Irishman’s holding a glass of champagne and he just smiles at the man, taking a sip from it. The artist murmurs along with the song, not as loud or sharp as the younger boy, but enough that Jack can hear him. It’s rough, slightly shaking, and yet so beautiful. He didn’t know Anti could sing. Andreas is dancing along with his boyfriends, all holding hands and spinning around. The brown-haired man can’t stop grinning when they all peck each other on their lips and he sends a look at Anti. The artist just shakes his head, playing still, and Jack walks up to him to place an arm around the man’s shoulders.

 

Róisín gets tired as the night goes by and the Irishman takes her to his bedroom, changing her diaper while everyone goes downstairs. She’s blinking heavily and he kisses the baby’s small hands before rocking her gently. Jack spins Róisín’s mobile above the crib, showing her how the pom poms move, and a soft tune plays. He whispers his love to her, telling how happy he is tonight, and he puts her to sleep. The Irishman checks on the baby monitor before leaving the place and there’s faint laughter coming from the living room. There’s no such thing about waiting until tomorrow for gifts in this house, so they all exchange packages while chatting. Jack comes to sit down next to Anti on the couch, taking his trembling hand, and they watch everyone’s face light up. Andreas gets a new choker and Tucker, another camera. There are even clothes for Róisín that they give to Jack and he smiles at that. The copper-haired man is fidgeting with his sweater, tucking strands of hair behind his ear, and the boy asks what’s wrong.

 

“I…” he murmurs, knitting his eyebrows. “I got you something.”

 

Jack’s heart flutters and he huffs. “I have something for you too… You first?”

 

Anti gets up, leaning down to take a present hidden under the tree, and the boy sees a small package in his hands. Everyone gets quiet and looks at them, but Jack only pays attention to his boyfriend. The freckled man comes back to him, giving him the gift, and the Irishman touches the fancy small box. He unties the red bow around it and, when he opens it, Anti purses his lips. Jack’s eyebrows go up and he sees a necklace, with a silver locket hanging from it. The brown-haired man takes it in his hands, thumb brushing against a rose in the middle, and the scrollwork is incredibly gorgeous. Anti whispers for him to open it and Jack does just that, only to let out a small whimper. His eyes fill with tears and he stares back at the man for a second, heart aching. Inside the rose locket, there’s that picture of his sister holding Róisín. That last photo he took from her. Jack half laughs, half sobs, not believing this man.

 

“H-How…”

 

“I hope you don’t get upset over this… But I asked Andreas to unlock your cell phone a while ago. I wanted it to be a secret,” the artist explains. “I drew the necklace design for you. It’s all handmade. I wanted you to have them close to your heart.”

 

Jack wraps his fingers around the locket, taking a deep breath before putting it around his neck. Andreas breaks the silence by saying he never saw Anti speak like that before and there’s light chuckle in the room. The boy looks around with teary eyes but he’s smiling so hard, his face hurts. Jack squeezes the artist’s cheeks, pulling him for a chaste kiss, and he thanks the man. He’ll let the fact that Anti sneaked behind his back slide this time, knowing he had good intentions, and the man bumps his nose against the boy’s cheek.

 

“I feel a bit silly now,” Jack chuckles, getting up to grab Anti’s gift. “There’s a small coincidence with our presents.”

 

The Irishman’s package is a little yellow one with a golden bow and Anti unwraps it with care, burned profile to Jack. A silver bracelet with a rose in the middle falls onto his shaking hand and it’s very simple. Jack whispers that it belonged to Megan and it’s one of the few things that he kept for himself. The ginger-haired man touches it, feeling the light material and the little rose, and there’s silence. Jack forgets about everyone, really. It’s just them and they’re leaning so close, a hand brushing against the man’s thigh. It’s truly a funny and yet beautiful coincidence that they both gave something that reminds them of Róisín. Anti asks if he’s sure about this and the boy nods, eyes turning into half-moons. He puts the bracelet around the artist’s left wrist and they exchange a look.

 

“Thank you,” Anti mutters, kissing Jack’s forehead. “It’s beautiful.”

 

“God, my teeth will fall from my mouth. This is too sweet for me,” Justin says and Tucker nods, sipping from his drink.

 

The brown-haired man laughs, finally paying attention to everyone, and Anti doesn’t leave his side the whole night. They keep holding hands, caressing each other and stealing chaste kisses. Jack’s heart is full and he’s at ease. They all play _Monopoly_ too and they try to keep quiet because of the baby sleeping upstairs, but there are groans and harshly whispers over cheating. The Irishman just watches with a mug in his hands, half of his hot chocolate gone. Anti almost flips the table at some point and Robin clicks his tongue, taking care of the fake money. Jack dozes off for a bit, lying on the couch, and it’s the artist that pats his cheek, saying everyone is starting to leave. It’s past one in the morning and they all hug each other, wishing them a Merry Christmas. The house goes back to its silence but there’s still warmth there. Jack lazily wraps his arms around Anti and the man picks him up, taking them to his bedroom. The Irishman buries his face in the crook of his neck, sighing.

 

They wash their faces and brush their teeth, both in the bathroom. Jack rubs his left eye, yawning, and they strip off their sweaters. They fall in bed, hugging each other, and the Irishman brushes his fingers against that bracelet on Anti’s wrist. He kisses that burned hand and the man pulls him closer so their lips meet. Jack’s eyes flutter and he mumbles between kisses how much he likes the artist. That he’s content and safe. Anti hums, cupping his face, and their tongues brush. It’s a lazy, deep kiss, that leaves them breathless and flushed. The artist moves to be on top of him, boy melting in his arms. Their lips make a loud, wet sound in the room. They moan and gasp, deliberately touching one another, and the boy’s necklace brush against their chests. The ginger-haired man roams his hands through Jack’s body, caressing him, and they have goosebumps under the covers. The mattress shift with their movements and it’s just warm, sweet and _slow._ They’re both so tired but they still want to feel each other. It’s been wonderful. Jack tells him all of that and Anti whispers sweet nothings, mouth falling open when the boy bites down his neck.

 

The freckled man devours his mouth and Jack feels safe, loving that weight above him. He sighs, letting Anti kiss him as much as he wants, and he’s all jello. Jack’s eyelids are so heavy, sandpaper-like, and he can’t bring himself to react much when the artist lightly moves his hips. Anti stops for a second, knitting his eyebrows.

 

“Seán?” he whispers, lips brushing against the boy’s. Jack hums, still with his eyes closed and body limp. Anti pulls back just enough to look down at him and the Irishman makes an effort to stare back, and there’s a small smile on the man’s face. “I suppose it’s time to sleep.”

 

“Sorry, big boy… I’m beat,” Jack lightly chuckles, rubbing an eye. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

 

“Mm,” Anti hums, bumping his nose on the boy’s neck. “I don’t mind. I want you to rest. You deserve it.”

 

They turn around to lie on their sides and the Irishman hugs him, resting against the man’s naked chest. It’s quiet and their ribcages move up and down with their breathing. Jack whispers a _Thank you_ , wanting to express how much he loved that necklace. Anti kisses the top of his head, humming that he liked the bracelet too and that he’ll take care of it. They curl around each other, just sighing in the snowy night, and it doesn’t take too long for them to fall asleep. Jack’s dreams, for once, don’t give him a fright that jolts him awake. He doesn’t dream of a white suit or a grave. It’s just warm blurs of Anti’s hair made of fire and shining freckles. Emerald eyes and disfigured frames. Yellow. Nothing that makes any sense. It’s a heavy sleep and he barely moves.

 

Exhausted but overjoyed.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now lovelies! Thank you so much for the support so far and the sweet comments as always! I'll be back in January 8th, as I said before. I know it's a bit earlier but since I won't be uploading here, I'm wishing you guys happy holidays and a happy new year! Take it easy guys, enjoy your own time and be kind to yourself!! See you guys in a few weeks!! :)
> 
> -[Seán's silver rose necklace](https://www.etsy.com/listing/621209108/silver-locket-photo-locket-rose-locket?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=photo+rose+necklace&ref=sr_gallery-2-27&organic_search_click=1&sca=1)  
> -[Abél's rose bracelet](https://www.etsy.com/listing/519742653/tiny-silver-rose-bracelet-sterling?show_sold_out_detail=1)  
> 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo I'm back!! Kept thinking about these boys during my trip and I hope you guys like this update! As you can see, there's a number of chapters now! It might change to one more or not. I'm still working on it, but it is close to ending! Enjoy! :)

It’s just the two of them on New Year’s.

 

Well, three.

 

They have a quiet day, just cooking and watching television. Róisín rolls on her stomach and she tries moving. They even record some of it and Jack lies on the floor with her, encouraging the baby to crawl and pull her arms. Róisín doesn’t push herself up with her legs, but she does move forward for a little bit, and that’s enough to make them cheer. Jack throws all kind of nicknames at her, showing a plushie to make his daughter go towards him, and Anti smiles from the couch. They have wine, both lying on opposite sides and brushing their bare feet against one another. They talk between murmurs and giggles, sipping from their drinks, with music playing in the background. Anti picks up Róisín for a dance, just swaying with her in the living room, and Jack records it too with a smile behind a cell phone. They have dinner by the kitchen island, shoulders brushing, and his baby falls asleep after another reading time.

 

They stay on Anti’s bed for the rest of the night, facing each other, with legs locked around their waist. Both completely naked, just with a bracelet and necklace. They sip from their glasses of wine and there’s a warm buzz all over their bodies. Jack likes how smooth and cold the drink goes down his throat, and how he feels slower in a good way. He tilts his glass too much at some point and the drink streams down his chin. Smearing his beard and neck. Anti’s eyes darken and he grunts from under his breath, leaning down to lick him there. The boy’s eyes flutter, tilting his head back to show more skin, and he shivers. He puts their glasses on the nightstand and Anti moves to suck on Jack’s nipples. The Irishman arches his back, caressing the man’s hair, and his moan is low in the dark. The canopy bed curtains are loose, making their world just that bed. Perfectly framed. The man pecks his chest, up to his jaw, and he bites the boy’s earlobe. Jack hugs him tight, loving every second of this.

 

“Ten… Nine… Eight…”

 

It’s Jack who who counts down to midnight, whispering so close that their lips brush. Anti closes his eyes to just listen, hot breath against the boy’s mouth. The artist lightly tickles the Irishman, making him chuckle and squirm in his arms, but he keeps counting. There’s a smile brushing against Jack’s lips.

 

“Three… Two… One…”

 

They leave far away from town so there are no fireworks. It’s just silence but the Irishman couldn’t wish for anything else when the clock strikes midnight. They kiss, wishing each other a happy New Year, and it turns sloppy and lazy. Jack grins, just breathing into his mouth and pecking lightly, and Anti huffs when the boy kisses his droopy left eye. They caress each other and the brown-haired man pulls him until they fall in bed. They makeout for a while, biting their lips and brushing their tongues, and they make love under the covers. Jack takes the artist from behind, both just taking their time and panting. Anti squirms when the boy plants open-mouthed kisses on the back of his neck and his moans are muffled, face buried into a pillow. The Irishman moves his hips deep and slow, both shuffling and breathing hard.

 

He rests his forehead between Anti’s shoulder blades, digging his nails into the man’s hips, and they’re pressed together. Jack moans, loving how it feels to be inside his lover, and Anti’s eyes roll back the more he thrusts. They mewl and entwine their fingers, knuckles turning white, and the Irishman whispers into his ear until Anti whines harder. Louder. Shameless lifting his ass more in the air and drooling. Jack stops for a moment just to see the artist complain, moving back into him. The man is a mess between sobs and it’s the Irishman that cums first. He lets out broken gasps, hips jerking, and the freckled man convulses underneath the boy when he reaches his own orgasm. They shudder and there’s a damp spot on the pillow from Anti’s drool.

 

Jack hums, taking his ginger hair away from his neck and pecking him there, and the man mumbles for him not to move. To stay. The boy rises up and down, softly with the artist’s breathing, and Anti rests a cheek against the pillow. Mouth ajar, with a face of pure bliss. Jack kisses that long scar, hot breath hitting his face, and they’re all limb. When the Irishman pulls out, he runs his hands down to the man’s back, caressing his ass cheeks. Anti turns around with open arms and Jack goes to him without a second thought, grinning between chaste kisses. It easy to get comfortable next to him and the ginger-haired man seems to be in a good mood, still wanting to peck him and make him giggle. Anti whispers with a hoarse voice that he likes the boy’s laugh. Every sound he makes. How he feels and tastes. Everything. Jack flushes, biting his bottom lip, and there are more words under the covers. It makes his heart ache, beating strongly for that man.

 

It’s something he never wants to forget.

 

The first days of January have that calm aura around them. The beginning of a year always feels that way, but with a hint of loneliness and exhaustion. A longing for something that he never quite understood. Jack, for the first time, doesn’t have that worry and it’s rather peaceful. Róisín keeps trying to crawl, to use her legs more and go towards her father. He vacuums the house while Anti washes the dishes, and they take care of the garden together since it has stopped snowing. It’s still chilly outside but they start having breakfast on the porch, drinking hot tea and coffee to warm themselves. Jack talks to him about new recipes that he wants to try and Andreas texts them every now and then. Sometimes it’s so hard to leave the bed but it’s not for grim reasons. It’s just that having a ginger-haired man spooning him makes getting up in the morning more difficult. Jack’s not complaining about that, though.

 

Anti’s gallery will open on January 4th and he paints more, locking himself in that workshop for hours and hours. Jack sighs, realizing he didn’t lunch today yet and it’s almost four in the afternoon already. He left a note on that door for the man to come out a while ago but nothing happened. It feels like deja vú. He knows that too well by now. The Irishman makes sure that Róisín is safe and sound on her baby swing before walking into that small hallway, knocking on that burned door. There’s a loud grunt and the boy rolls his eyes, opening and stepping on old stairs that creak. He sees Anti pacing around the workshop, shirtless, muttering cursing words in italian. There’s a louder _Merda_ in the air and he has paint all over him. Chest and hands. Jack looks around, seeing so many canvas of him hang up on the walls, and there are even new ones that he didn’t pose for. Close ups of his arms, collarbones and thighs. Faces turned to the side, a hint of blue from his eyes and rosy knuckles. He knits his eyebrows.

 

“Have you been painting me by memory?”

 

Anti runs a hand through his messy hair, stopping in his tracks to look down at the floor. He clenches his jaw, body tense. “It helps me when I’m stressed.”

 

The freckled man murmurs something about having that interview tomorrow and he’s anxious to show his face again. They will film before the opening and the press will be there. They will ask about the fire and Anti knows that nobody buys the accident excuse bullshit. Everyone thinks he did it anyway and he’s always been known as an explosive artist. His murmurs turn into growls, harsh voice getting louder in the room. His nostrils flare, yelling how much he hates himself, and he paces back and forth. Jack’s eyes widen and he raises his hands in the air, as if telling the man to calm down. Anti groans, clenching his hands into fists, and he curves down. The Irishman gasps when the artist sinks his nails into his skin, scratching his face and pulling his hair. The boy calls him out, running towards him with a beating heart, and he tells him to stop. Anti whimpers, hiding his face, and he falls down on his knees onto the floor. Jack’s sudden panic makes him tremble and the corners of his eyes burn with unshed tears, not wanting his lover to hurt himself.

 

The Irishman sits down in front of the artist, pushing his hands away to look at him, and Anti’s scowling. He’s practically pouting, yellow paint on his hair and forehead, and his left side has new red marks. Little scratches that are not deep enough to bleed, but it certainly irritates his skin. Jack sighs, grimacing, and he shakes his head. There’s a moment of silence and the boy waits for Anti to calm down. To take a deep breath and relax his body. The artist shuts his eyes, pursing his lips, and the brown-haired man runs a hand through his hair. Jack soothes the man, bumping his forehead against his temple.

 

“I don’t mind,” Jack whispers, thinking of where to start. “I don’t mind you painting me. I think it’s rather flattering. Obsessive for sure, but… It’s you that we’re talking about.”

 

The Irishman smiles when the artist grunts and he cups the man’s cheeks, moving his face so they can both lock their gaze. Anti’s expression falls and the Irishman tells him that he doesn’t own the press any answer. They’re just looking for something to poke it and watch him squirm, but they should focus on the man’s art instead. If it comes across as dismissive about his work, Anti shouldn’t bother with them at all. Jack traces that burned side with his fingers, not liking the new half-moons marks from his nails. The ginger-haired man leans into his touch, bumping his nose against the boy’s cheek. He sighs.

 

“What would I do without you?” Anti mutters.

 

Jack hums, planting a kiss on his temple, and the man tugs on his shirt. He takes the man’s hands, both getting up from the floor, and he walks them out of the workshop. The Irishman brings them to Anti’s bedroom and he goes to find a small scissor in the bathroom, bringing some ointment as well. The artist presses his lips together, knitting his eyebrows in bed, and he grunts when Jack sits in front of him while touching his hands. The boy shushes him, wanting to cut his nails, and Anti glares at his shaking fingers. He needs to relax and the brown-haired man tells him to focus on something else. The freckled man blinks at him, ribcage slowly moving up and down with his breathing, and he lets Jack take over. The boy is careful not to hurt his skin and it’s quiet, just the man staring at him with tired eyes. Once he’s done with them, he uncaps the ointment and applies over Anti’s half-moons marks. On his left cheek and temple.

 

“I don’t want you to do this again…” Jack breaks the silence. “You know I don’t like it when you hurt yourself. We’ve talked about this. It scares me.”

 

“I know,” Anti grumbles, looking down at the mattress as if ashamed. “It’s just-, I wish I could just fucking rip m-”

 

The Irishman cuts him off, not wanting him to get agitated again, and the man pinches the end of his nose with a sigh. Jack finishes taking care of his scratches and Anti stares at his freshly cut nails with dark eyes. The boy covers the artist’s hands with his, bringing him back to reality, and he calls him beautiful. He says the freckled man needs to be more kind to himself. More patient. It’s a new year. They could try and support each other. The copper-haired man hums and they lean into a chaste kiss, soothing their hearts. Jack whispers that the man needs to eat too and that an empty stomach doesn’t help this situation at all. There’s a grumble but he agrees, finally brushing away unwelcome thoughts.

 

Jack has to heat up some food in the kitchen but the artist follows him, holding the boy from behind and looking down at the pan. He swallows, resting his chin on the Irishman’s shoulder, and he whispers that one day he will cook for the boy. Jack’s heart clenches and he smiles, saying he would like that very much. Anti grunts to himself, nodding, and they eat in the quiet. The rest of the day consists in distracting the man from his thoughts and Jack uses Róisín’s cuteness as the ultimate weapon. The copper-haired man plays with the baby in the living room, watching her on the jumperoo for a few minutes before showing her a book. The Irishman brings him a piece of lemon pie and he stares at those faint marks on Anti’s side. It’ll heal in no time but he wishes they weren’t there in the first place. He holds back a sigh and just enjoys their moment together.

 

When they’re in bed, there’s just the sound of a pen against paper. Anti’s resting his back against the bed frame, writing something, and he’s been doing that since the year started. He never really shows those to the boy. Jack’s lying on his stomach, next to Róisín, and he just hums. He watches Róisín grab the sheets and she’s looking around with wide eyes, babbling and doing her best.

 

“What are you writing about?” the boy asks, caressing his baby’s hair.

 

“Mm,” the man replies. “It’s not done yet.”

 

Róisín complains on his behalf and they stare at her, seeing her shuffle and move up a little. Jack cleans her mouth with her blankie, not wanting her to drool, and she frowns. It’s adorable and she’s more fussy than ever, always wanting to be doing something. The Irishman’s been reading more books about baby care and how he should start weaning Róisín soon. She’s close to being six months, so they’ll both have to adapt again. Anti puts his sketchbook down, calling her and moving his hands, and she can’t quite continue going up. The mattress is throwing her off, not feeling too much balance. She just pouts, face turning red, and Jack can’t help but smile with affection when Róisín lets out a cry. He picks her up, shushing her, but there are tears streaming down her face. The Irishman says it’s alright and he moves to be closer to Anti, showing his baby that he’s there. The copper-haired man takes her in his arms, kissing her cheek, and Jack cleans her eyes. Róisín tugs on the artist’s silver bracelet and the boy looks at them, baby resting on the man’s chest.

 

Jack’s heart aches and his throat closes with emotions, swallowing hard. That sight is so gorgeous, Anti planting a soft kiss on his daughter’s forehead to calm her down, and she’s just clinging onto his sister’s bracelet. She has no idea. Not at all. Jack shakes his head, lips parting, and the man looks at him with half-lidded eyes. Beautiful freckles painting his face. Scars and redden skin. Even the sunlight softly hitting them is perfect, coming from a gap between the curtains. An orange glow around them. It’s like the universe is screaming at him that they are his life. He’s certain of that. The Irishman blinks, sapphire locked on emerald, and he lets the words roll out of his tongue.

 

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers. ”Did you know that?”

 

Anti sort of freezes for a few seconds, eyes widening a little, and his expression softens. Jack runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, and he’s sure of what he said. It’s been suffocating to keep these words so close to his heart, never letting them out. There’s something about this, _now,_ that just made him realize that this was enough waiting. They’re just so near, casually resting in bed while the sun sets, and everything is just so serene. He had to. The Irishman says Anti doesn’t have to say anything back, though. That is fine. The freckled man huffs, raising a hand in the air to brush his knuckles against the boy’s cheek. The exchange a look and Jack wraps his fingers around the man’s wrist, leaning into the touch. Feeling that hand slightly trembling on his skin, so familiar now. The ginger-haired man keeps caressing him and he takes a deep breath, thinking.

 

“Will you trust me… If I asked you to wait for my words, mio amato?” Anti murmurs, gazing at him. Searching with his mismatched eyes. “I promise you that there’s a reason. I don’t want to hurt you.” The Irishman bats his long eyelashes against his cheeks, mouth ajar, but his heart is calm. There’s something in Anti that shows how sincere he’s being and Jack kisses the man’s hand. Róisín has gone quiet, content to be in the artist’s arms again. The boy nods slowly, saying that he trusts him. The freckled man hums. “You never fail to amaze me. You speak what’s on your mind so easily.”

 

“Sometimes it’s not like that,” Jack replies. “There are moments I feel frustrated with you. Scared and worried. Just like before, in the workshop. You’re stubborn… But you’re my stubborn man. I do trust you. I’m not worried about that. I just… I couldn’t hold it in here anymore.”

 

The brown-haired man points to his heart and Anti moves his hand down, resting it there against his chest. They take a deep breath and Jack bumps his forehead against the artist’s temple, both looking at Róisín. The Irishman wouldn’t believe it if someone told him a few months ago that he would be in bed with a man that hired him to be his caretaker, in love. With his daughter holding onto this person. It would be the weirdest thing ever, but now he wouldn’t have it in any other way. Jack smiles at the thought, kissing his lover’s shoulder, and Róisín babbles for attention. Anti talks to her, saying she’s lucky to have the Irishman as her father, and she just blinks at him. The boy chuckles, eyes turning into half-moons, and the freckled man kisses his forehead.

 

His happiness is almost overwhelming, not believing that he got to say those words and he saw affection in the artist’s eyes. Not indifference or concern. Just warmth in those shades of green, staring back at him. That sight settles down in his heart and he’ll keep it there.

 

 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

Jack stirs himself awake, knitting his eyebrows, and he’s lying on his stomach. There are birds chirping outside and he takes a deep breath, only to feel light fingers caressing his back. The Irishman hums, burying his face into the pillow, and he slowly opens his blue eyes. Anti is staring at him, soft morning light coming from the window behind him, and the man rests his hand on the boy’s waist. Jack blinks heavy, rubbing his eyes and yawning, and the artist murmurs he didn’t mean to wake him up. The brown-haired man just grumbles again and he hides his mouth behind an arm, hugging his pillow. Anti comes even closer, pushing the covers down Jack’s thighs to touch his ass cheeks, and the boy closes his eyes. The artist pecks his shoulder and whispers that he’s beautiful like that, all naked in bed. The Irishman can’t help but snort, all sleepy.

 

“I have morning breath right now,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “My hair is a mess and I need to shave... That’s so sexy.”

 

“Sei bello…” Anti replies, kissing his cheek and making the boy smile. “Io voglio svegliarmi accanto a te, ogni giorno della mia vita.”

 

“Now, that’s not fair. I wanna know what you said.”

 

The freckled man just hums, looking away to avoid the subject, and the Irishman narrows his eyes. When Jack turns around to sit up, Anti hugs him from behind and stops him with a grunt. The boy laughs but says he has to go to the bathroom, that they have to get up. The artist tigthens his hold, kissing the boy’s neck, and Jack squirms with a smile. Anti tickles him until he’s throwing his head back with laughter, resting against the man’s shoulder, and he pulls his legs up in the air. Jack tells him to stop, both rolling in bed, and there are tears in his eyes. The man lets out that chuckle with a snort, ginger hair all over his face, and the Irishman sits on top of him with a stupid grin. He leans down to kiss the artist’s neck, groaning when Anti squishes his soft stomach, and he whispers that they can take a bath together. The freckled man perks up at that and Jack convinces him to leave the bed.

 

The Irishman brushes his teeth while Anti empties his bladder and he just looks down at that toothbrush cup over the sink, putting his once he’s done. Everything about this is incredibly domestic and he had this thought before. He’s always on Anti’s bedroom now, always spending the night with the man. There are clothes in the artist’s dresser that belongs to Jack, because they didn’t want the boy to keep going back and forth. He only goes to that other room to be with Róisín, to check on her. Anti prepares the bath, sitting on the edge of it completely naked, and Jack walks up to him. He runs a hand through the man’s ginger locks, pushing them back, and the artist rests his face against the boy’s stomach. Anti bumps his nose there, caressing his thighs, and they enter the bathtub.

 

Jack sits between Anti’s legs, resting his back against the man’s chest, and they just take a deep breath while fully waking up in the morning. The lukewarm water is welcome and it soothes the Irishman. The ginger-haired man takes a sponge and lightly scrubs Jack’s back, covering him with soap, and everything is so quiet. They talk in whispers again and the boy asks if he can trim the man’s hair, just a little. Tonight is his gallery opening, so he wants Anti to feel good about himself. He wants them to take it slow. The freckled man grunts as an answer, agreeing, and Jack turns around to clean him. He doesn’t add pressure on Anti’s burned sides and the man stares at him through half-lidded eyes, hands around his waist. The Irishman damps the sponge again, touching his face, and water streams down his right cheek and neck. They use Anti’s shampoo, with that citric scent that the boy likes so much, and they stay there a little longer. They kiss, cupping their faces and tilting their heads, and the water has cooled off by now.

 

They dry themselves and put on some underwear, and Jack tells him to sit down on the toilet while he grabs some scissors. He brushes Anti’s long damp hair and he just trims it, hoping that it’ll curl even more. The freckled man stays still and he asks for Jack to cut his bangs down to his chin. The brown-haired man also takes care of his beard and there are copper strands falling onto the tiled floor. They talk about the gallery and how Anti will have to leave earlier, but he wants the boy to be there with him. Especially during the interview. He promises that this time is going to be calmer during the event, with less of those rich people. Anti calls them cunts again but, oh well. Jack just snorts, listening to him. There’s a thin line of anxiety dropping down to his stomach, but he will go. Of course he will. The Irishman can’t bring himself to deny such thing. He wants to be with Anti and that feeling is stronger than any dark memory.

 

When he finishes cutting the man’s hair, the artist leaves to check on Róisín for him. Jack sighs to himself, looking in the mirror, and he inhales deeply. He can do this. It’ll be fine. That man will not be there. Things are different now. The Irishman nods to himself, clearing his throat, and he goes to find some clothes. They still follow their routine during the day, having breakfast on the porch and watching on the baby. She’s kicking much harder and her eyes just shine whenever they speak to her. Róisín is only babbling at her toys but it’s still adorable to see her. Anti’s already receiving calls from Justin, getting updates on his gallery and how everything is being set, and Jack does his best to keep his mind busy. He texts Robin too and he sends Ethan a list of what they want to restock in the kitchen, along with some fruits so he can make purée for his daughter.

 

They dress up to the event more casually this time. Jack has his usual white formal shirt with jeans, sleeves rolled up, and he’s wearing that necklace still. Anti dresses in a long black skirt with a yellow turtle neck shirt, along with a round black hat and combat boots. He’s wearing gloves and earrings, bracelet in sight. The artist insists in having Róisín with them this time, so she’s wearing a red dress with a white headband. Jack holds her, content to have her in his arms, and they leave the house. It’s after an hour that they arrive in the city and Anti’s gallery is a large, white studio in a busy street. The front of it it’s a floor-to-ceiling window, revealing the interior and decorations. When they walk inside, Jack notices how everything is very minimalist and there are lights focusing on each painting, hanging up on different panels. Justin is already there and he greets them, saying the press is getting ready further inside. Anti purses his lips and Jack feels a bit out of place again, with a stroller on his side.

 

Justin helps him, though, saying the boy can leave it in a private room and he can go there anytime without anyone interrupting. Jack thanks him for that and they follow him. Anti tenses up when entering one of the displaying rooms, seeing people turning their heads at him. Someone wants to put makeup on him but he stops it with a scowl, that sweet side of him gone the moment they talk to him. It puts a small smile on Jack’s face, happy that he only gets to see that, and Anti goes back to his murmurs. The woman that will be responsible for the questions greets both of them and she seems genuinely excited, so that at least put them at ease. They exchange a look and the Irishman pats his cheek, whispering that he’ll do well and that he needs to remember what they’ve talked before. Anti pecks his lips and caresses Róisín’s hair before walking away, sitting on a chair in front of a camera. There are spotlights directed to him and he purses his lips, adjusting his gloves and clearing his throat.

 

Jack looks up at those special microphones to catch the man’s voice from afar and he stays in the back, watching everyone getting ready. The angle shows some of Anti’s works in the background, but the camera is focused on him. The lady asks general questions at first and the artist runs a hand through his locks before answering them. His hair looks beautiful under the light and Jack’s actually proud of what he did. It’s nothing much, still long, but his curls are more full and they shape his face so well. Anti clenches his jaw when she does mention the fire, but she rather makes a motivation point about moving forward and still making an amazing work. She questions that he never had a muse before and the copper-haired man glances at Jack from behind the camera. The Irishman mouths _I love you_ , rocking Róisín a little bit, and the baby just sucks on her pacifier while holding her bunny. Anti blinks at them, smiling with his eyes, and he hums. The artist brings up his name and that makes the boy’s heart flutters.

 

“He is my lover,“ the freckled man says, fidgeting with that bracelet on his left wrist. “I’d be nothing without him.”

 

The interview ends shortly after that and Jack’s smiling, ear to ear. Anti did feel tense in some moments and he avoided subjects he didn’t want to talk about, but he was wonderful. Jack makes sure to tell him just that, looking up at him, and Anti just sighs before bumping his nose against the boy’s cheek. They kiss briefly before Justin calls them and the artist seems relieved that the interview is over. The man takes Róisín in his arms for a moment and they open the gallery for the public. It’s surreal to see himself as a work of art but he won’t deny that Anti did a beautiful job with these new pieces. Everything is full of colors and there’s that messy, sketch style mixed with realism that Jack loves it so much. The freckled man introduces him to everyone this time, always staying by his side, and the boy flushes at people’s compliments.

 

There are people taking pictures of them from afar every now and then, and Anti whispers they are journalists so the boy doesn’t have to worry. Jack just hums, holding his baby, and he doesn’t drink in the event. Not at all. He refuses every glass of champagne and he tries not to think too much about it. Anti notices that, an arm around his waist, and he asks if the boy is alright. The Irishman nods and Róisín falls asleep in his arms. He excuses himself, though, finding that room Justin showed him with a _Staff Only_ sign. There’s a small kitchen and table, along with a door that leads to a bathroom. Jack sighs, placing his baby in her stroller, and he looks down at her. She’s behaving nicely but he can tell that she was getting fussy, tired. Jack stays in that room a little longer, calming down. He takes deep breaths, shaking anxiety off his skin. There are no white suits, no silver hair. No one came too close from him and they were all polite. Anti was right about this one being less stressful, but it doesn’t stop Jack from looking around the place too often.

 

The door opens and he sees the artist walking in, scowl softening. Jack leans against a counter and sighs, smiling at him with tired eyes.

 

“So… I’m your lover, huh?” he chuckles and Anti nods, tilting his hat while going towards him. Jack cups his cheeks, face scrunching up in emotion, and the man looks down at him. “You’ve grown so much since I met you. I’m so fucking proud of you… Don’t you ever forget that.”

 

The copper-haired man lets out a small whimper, wrapping his fingers around the boy’s wrists and caressing him there. They lean into a kiss, breathing deep, and Anti hums into his mouth. They rest their foreheads against each other’s and the Irishman hugs him close, wanting his warmth.

 

“We don’t have to stay here anymore. I already did my part. We can go home, if you want,” Anti murmurs and the boy tightens his hold upon listening that word again. “Would you like that?”

 

The brown-haired man nods and the artist takes Róisín’s stroller, guiding them out of that place. As much as this was pleasing and more welcoming, Jack is glad that they’re leaving. There are more pictures taken when they walk out of the room and Anti has an arm around his waist, leading them outside. Tyler wastes no time in helping them get inside the car and Jack rests his head against the man’s shoulder. It’s finally quiet, blurry street lights passing through the windows, and they entwine their fingers. The Irishman whispers into Anti’s ear, saying he can show the boy what he wanted to do with him in that first event, and the freckled man grunts under his breath. He looks at Jack with darker eyes, tightening their hold, and the ride home is peaceful. They kiss in the car, getting a little carried away and sliding their tongues, and Tyler closes the window between them. The brown-haired man smiles between every kiss and his anxiety fades away.

 

When they arrive at the mansion, Anti takes Róisín in his arms, being careful not to wake her up. Jack whispers she was agitated at the party, not used to so many sounds and people at once. The freckled man mumbles she’ll be fine but they’ll pay more attention to that next time. The boy leans against the bedroom door frame, watching Anti place his baby in the crib, and he tucks her in. There’s a soft smile on Jack’s face and they walk towards the man’s room, whispering in the dark. This is routine. This is normal. They take off their clothes with care, throwing some garments in the bathroom basket and folding others. They brush their teeth and wash their faces together, and they move around each other easily. Jack brushes Anti’s hair in bed, untangling his locks, and they talk about the gallery. The artist is glad that everything went alright and that the response was positive so far. Justin seemed content as well and he’ll let them know when the interview comes out on tv.

 

When they lie down in bed, Jack stays on top of him and they makeout for a while. They sigh and peck their lips, kisses making a sound. Anti’s back is resting against the bed frame and the boy goes down to his neck, biting his skin and licking that scar to make him moan. He keeps whispering that he’s proud of the man and that he did good. It only makes the artist squirm more underneath him, naked bodies rutting against one another, and Jack moves to find that bottle of lubricant on their nightstand. They tease themselves, panting in their mouths, and the Irishman jerks off the man a couple of times. He lifts his hips to take Anti’s cock, sighing when being stretched open. Jack rides him and the freckled man touches his waist, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, and they mewl in bed. Anti’s hands wander all over him and he murmurs words in italian, calling him gorgeous and making him blush. The Irishman lets out a breathless laugh, slowly moving up and down, and he cups the man’s face. Their lips meet, mouths falling open and tongues brushing, and Jack has goosebumps.

 

The ginger-haired man gently turns them around and the boy holds onto him, moaning louder at the movement. He lies down on his back, looking up at his lover, and Anti thrusts into him. Jack locks his legs around his waist and he arches his back, nails digging into the man’s back. The freckled man pants into his ear, chest-to-chest, and they both whimper. It’s passionate. Sweet and yet raw. Nothing too fast but it drives them mad, wanting more. Their skin slaps in the room and Anti fucks him deep, taking his time. Jack swears under his breath, eyes fluttering, and they hug each other. He caresses the artist’s hair and his pupils widen, breathing hard through his mouth. The man’s cock moves in and out of him, and he bends the boy as much as he can. Jack’s toes curl, legs up in the air, and he knits his eyebrows in pleasure. His cock brushes against their stomachs and he’s _warm._

 

“I-I…” he breathes, mattress shifting beneath them. “Oh, god. I’m c-close… I’m close… A-Abél…”

 

“S-Seán…”

 

Anti’s voice is strained and the boy moans when hearing his first name, loving that the man calls him like that now. Jack tenses up and he throws his head back, cumming onto their stomachs. He sobs, spasming with waves of pleasure, and the artist pecks his neck. Anti thrusts a few more before finding his own orgasm, sighing into the boy’s skin, and they shudder. Jack’s heart beats like a drum and they’re panting, still lightly moving and gasping. The boy cups the man’s face, closing his eyes to just take it in this feeling. Anti makes a motion to pull out but Jack stops him, whining, and he kisses the freckled man. They lightly bite their lips and the man sucks on his tongue.

 

“Stay,” he mumbles, pecking his lover. “Makeout with me like this… I love feeling you inside me.”

 

Anti groans, lying on top of him, and their legs tangle under the covers. Jack caresses the man’s back, soothing him after the scratches he left there. Their kisses turn lazy, just breathing into their mouths and brushing their lips. The Irishman smiles when Anti kisses behind his ear, liking that rough skin against his, and they calm down their racing hearts. It’s lovely to have Anti in his arms, to feel only his touch and no one else’s. It’s such a profound and vivid emotion that Jack has towards him, it sends a pang in his heart. When the artist looks down at him, with those misshapen green eyes, there’s no longer that loneliness in them. For a moment, Jack wonders if that’s the fire Anti talks about. There’s something new and powerful in the freckled man’s gaze, and that leaves him breathless. And to think that he came to that mansion not seeking for anything like this. Just mourning and bruised. The Irishman runs a hand through Anti’s locks, ribcage rising up and down, and he opens his mouth to speak.

 

“You have no idea how much you mean to me…”

 

“Mm,” the freckled man bumps his nose on the boy’s cheek. “I think I know how you feel.”

 

“Oh, yeah? You do?” Jack chuckles, eyes turning into half-moons, and Anti nods. “Prove it, big boy.”

 

“I will.”

 

The Irishman raises an eyebrow, not expecting him to answer so fast. Anti looks determined and that makes the boy chuckle more, pressing a thumb between the man’s scowl. The copper-haired man plants a chaste kiss on his lips and they let the silence fall over them like a blanket. Jack hums when Anti pulls out his soft cock and they turn around so the man can put an arm around his waist. The Irishman places his hand over the artist’s, sighing and closing his eyes while they adjust in bed. He buries his face into a pillow, drowning in Anti’s scent, and they relax. They murmur a goodnight and it doesn’t take too long for them to fall asleep. It’s been wonderful but stressful all day, both anxious about different things. Jack’s glad that they supported one another and that they went through it. He can’t wait for tomorrow to come so they can have a calm day. Maybe they could bake something together. Who knows.

 

It’ll be better.

 

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

They wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of a cry.

 

Jack sits up with a gasp, pushing the covers away from him, and Anti grumbles. He curses under his breath and grabs the baby monitor on the nightstand, looking at the screen through narrowed eyes. The boy sees Róisín awake, moving her arms and legs in the crib, and the copper-haired man shows up next to him. Anti mumbles he can go check on her but Jack says he’ll go, their words slurred. He stands up, putting down the monitor, and he quickly puts on his boxer briefs before leaving the room. The Irishman walks into the long hallway, his baby’s cry getting louder, and his heart aches. He brushes sleep away, rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat, and he steps into the bedroom. Róisín is whining, tears falling from her eyes, and Jack softly calls her with a small smile. He picks his baby up with a huff, shushing her, but his face falls when touching her. He puts a hand against Róisín’s forehead and he looks down at her, seeing how flushed she is.

 

The Irishman’s hit by a wave of panic, eyes widening, and he just stands there. Frozen in the middle of the room while staring at his child. The corners of his eyes burn with tears and his heart beats faster, throat closing. Jack lets out a strained sound and Róisín cries in his arms. The brown-haired man blinks and he sees that hospital, him sitting on an armchair with her in his lap. That white room and that awful smell. Jack’s breathing picks up, chest hurting, and tears stream down his face. His vision is blurry and he can’t move from there, just holding onto his baby while she wails. Oh, god. Fuck. There’s a silhouette coming from the doorway and then Anti’s voice is in the room, asking what’s wrong. Jack only whimpers and the man goes to him, frowning.

 

“S-She has a fever! I’m… I-I d-don’t know what to do! I don’t k-know what to do!” the Irishman blurts out. “I can’t take her to the hospital! I don’t w-wanna go to the hospital! She-”

 

“Seán,” Anti interrupts him, cupping his face. “Calm down. Breathe with me.”

 

Jack groans, closing his eyes, but he tries blocking all these thoughts. That sudden fear of failing again and he hates seeing his daughter hurting. Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. In and out. The Irishman sucks in air, shakily breathing through his mouth, and he nods. Anti wipes tears away from his face and he sniffs, trembling but doing his best to ground himself. The man is right. He can’t panic like that. He needs to focus. Róisín needs him. She needs them. The copper-haired man warns the boy first before touching the baby’s forehead, not wanting to startle both. Anti asks if he has a thermometer and Jack nods once more, mumbling something about Róisín’s bag on a dresser. The freckled man goes to find it, wearing boxer briefs as well, and the Irishman finally moves to sit down on bed with her. He rocks her gently, shushing and patting her back, and her cries are softer but still there. They’re both sniffing, cheeks red and puffy.

 

Anti comes back with the thermometer and the boy places Róisín down, unbuttoning her onesie so the man can check on her. Jack drags a hand over his face and they wait a minute, keeping her still. The Irishman feels so stupid, overreacting like that, but the artist’s hands are also shaking more than usual. They’re both worried. He rests his forehead against the man’s arm, sighing, and Anti purses his lips when looking at the thermometer. She really has a fever, close to 102  **°** F, and that makes the boy grimace. She’s squirming in bed, looking up at them, and she babbles with a frown. The Irishman shouldn’t have brought her to the party, he’s so fucking dumb. It’s still chilly outside and there were so many people there, he should’ve known. Anti seems to be thinking and Jack soothes his daughter, caressing her hair. The artist murmurs she should take a bath and they will wait to see if it gets better or worse. The brown-haired man agrees but he’ll search about this, see what he can figure it out.

 

It’s almost four in the morning and he tells Anti to go to bed, that he can do this. The freckled man scowls, shaking his head, and he says he’ll prepare her bath. Jack huffs with a tired smile and he picks up his daughter, taking them to the bathroom. She sniffs, clinging onto him, and he removes her diaper. Anti makes sure the water is not too cold but enough to refresh her, and Jack puts her in her baby bath. They both sit down on the tiled floor and the Irishman takes a soft sponge to clean her while the freckled man gives Róisín her dolphin toy. She’s stopped crying, liking the attention, and Anti rubs a hand on the boy’s back. Fuck. Jack’s thankful that he’s there. He’ll just be freaking out and, usually, he’s good at taking a step back to make a plan. It’s just that Róisín never got sick before, not like this. It’s the first time she has a fever and he’s so scared of fucking things up. The Irishman asks if Anti can read some stuff about this while he bathes her, and the man goes to find his cell phone. He reads out loud articles about babies with colds, resting his back against the bathtub, and the boy hums at everything.

 

Róisín doesn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing and she’s upset for waking up like that, but there’s nothing else. Anti is right, they need to wait and see what happens. It’s not unusual for babies to have colds. For now, Róisín seems to enjoy the bath, although with tired eyes. Her cheeks are still flushed but Jack cools her off with the water. The freckled man brings her towel and the boy dries her up, talking to her all the time. They walk out of the bathroom and he grabs her baby powder, along with a clean diaper. Anti gives him just a thin shirt so she won’t feel overwhelmed and Jack covers his face for a moment, holding back a groan. He jumps when the man touches his shoulders, too distracted with his thoughts, and Anti purses his lips. The artist says she’ll be fine and that he needs to sleep, but the boy refuses to do so. He just holds his baby and sits in bed, pulling his legs up to place her on his lap.

 

“I wanna stay here,” Jack whispers. “I wanna watch over her… You can go sleep, it’s okay.”

 

Anti knits his eyebrows, staring at them, and he clenches his hands a couple of times. He turns around, leaving the room, and Jack rests his forehead against his daughter’s. The house is quiet and she’s scrunching up her face, but definitely calmer. The floor creaks and the Irishman looks up to see Anti coming back with extra pillows. Jack half laughs, half sobs, and the man lies in bed with him. The copper-haired man tells him to sleep, that he’ll keep an eye on Róisín and they can take turns. He kisses the boy’s temple and Jack smiles at him with teary eyes, nodding. He finds a comfortable position, on his side with the baby, and Anti rests against the bed frame. The Irishman kisses his baby’s cheek, muttering that she’ll feel better soon. It is difficult to fall asleep but, when he does, it’s nothing too deep. He keeps jolting himself awake, immediately seeking for Róisín, and Anti is there to soothe him. They have a poorly night of sleep but at least they’re not alone.

 

It’s around seven in the morning that they check her temperature again and Jack sighs in relief when her fever is gone. She’s sleeping heavy, not even bothering that they moved her, and the boy looks up at Anti. The man’s hair is tied up in a messy bun, with restless eyes, and Jack thinks he must look the same. The artist murmurs that he can take a shower first and the Irishman rubs an eye, nodding. He walks into the bathroom, taking off his underwear, and the cold shower wakes him up for good. Jack cleans himself and he remembers last night. How panicked he felt and yet how calming Anti was. Fuck. Róisín getting sick was something he never really thought about it, as stupid as it may sound. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her to the porch a few days ago, when they were having breakfast outside. He just hopes she doesn’t feel worse to the point they need to go to a doctor. The Irishman steps out of the shower, drying himself and wrapping a towel around his waist, and the freckled man is caressing Róisín’s hair in bed.

 

They exchange a look, nodding, and it’s Anti’s turn to shower. Jack gets dressed in a striped shirt, dark blue and white, and a clean underwear. There’s a sound in the air and he sees Róisín waking up, all grumpy. Jack goes to her, soothing voice calling her name, and he takes her in his arms. The boy cleans his baby’s eyes and he warns the artist that they’re going downstairs. The Irishman will prepare her formula and see if she’ll eat. It doesn’t take too long for Anti to come back, walking into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and his yellow sweater. Jack feeds his baby and they’re both glad that she’s hungry. It’s a good sign, but her nose is running a little it. Anti will send Tyler to buy some saline and a bulb syringe to help with that and the Irishman gives her to the man, so he can make their coffee and tea. He also makes some toasts for them, something fast and simple, and they hold their hands on the kitchen island.

 

“She’ll be fine,” Anti murmurs. “It’s just a matter of waiting, mio amore.”

 

“I know…” Jack smiles, tightening their hold. “Thank you for sticking with me, though. I think that’s a proof, huh?”

 

“I still haven’t proved how I feel, but that can wait. Little rose is what matters now.”

 

Jack knits his eyebrows, not pushing the matter, and he thinks that Anti is right. Róisín needs their full attention and that’s exactly what they do. They spend their day in the living room, tv on in a low volume, and they make sure the baby is comfortable. The copper-haired man falls asleep on the couch at some point and Jack covers him with a blanket, smiling at his man. They’re both exhausted and Anti deserves some sleep. He’s been nothing but supportive and taking initiative. Tyler left what they asked for a while ago and Jack took care of Róisín’s nose, cleaning it gently. She’s a bit cranky but she likes being on her jumperoo, sitting up for a few minutes. Anti wakes up after an hour, all groggy from sleep, and the Irishman find some time to make more food for them. They keep switching places during the day, so it won’t be too overwhelming, and Jack doesn’t know what he’d do without the man.

 

Róisín does have a second fever on the next day but it’s not as strong as before. Still, it brings the boy to tears once more and he hates it. He’s just hugging her in bed, after giving her another bath, and his face scrunches up with emotion. Anti puts a hand on his shoulder and he flinches at that, bringing Róisín closer to him in a possessive hold. Jack sniffs and relaxes, though, realizing what he did. The freckled man presses his lips together and the boy apologizes, more tears smearing his face. Anti wipes them away and he shushes him, saying it’s fine. Jack rests his head against the artist’s shoulder, the three of them in bed, and the days drag. It’s something new and stressful for both of them. The Irishman keeps telling himself that it’ll get better and Róisín is a strong girl, still feeling hungry and sleeping heavy. Ethan and Tucker show up on the next day, and they take care of the house. The long-haired man makes them proper food and Jack is thankful for it.

 

It’s only on the fifth day that Róisín feels much better and Anti is pretending to bite her stomach in the living room, both on the soft carpet. They just had dinner and they’re resting, just watching tv. She giggles loudly, squirming and trying to push the man away, and Jack smiles at them from the couch. He scratches the back of his head, sighing, and the artist lets the baby push his hands so she can move more. She hits Anti’s nose and the man lets out an  _ Ouch _ while she just laughs. The Irishman glances at the tv, seeing that interview playing in the background, and his smile widen when hearing the word  _ lover _ again. The freckled man looks beautiful on screen and they show some of his work. Anti leaves Róisín in her baby swing for a bit and he walks towards the boy, sitting next to him. Jack wraps his arms around the man and they exchange a look. He caresses Anti’s hair, humming, and the artist clenches his jaw. The Irishman gives him a chaste kiss, whispering between their lips.

 

“Are you okay? Ró is fine, you were right... But you still look tense.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Anti replies and Jack makes a face, knowing that they’ve talked about this. “I promise.”

 

Jack wants to say something back but the man steals a kiss, opening his mouth to taste him. The Irishman closes his eyes, sighing, and their tongues brush. Anti cups his face and their lips make a sound when pulling back. He knows that the man wanted to distract him and it worked, with that damn mouth of his. It makes him huff, though, and they call it a day. They desperately want a good night of sleep, now that Róisín’s cold has passed. The dark circles under his eyes aren’t exactly a charming look, no matter how many times Anti says he’s just fine. They still go to Jack’s bedroom, both keeping an eye on her, and she fidgets with the boy’s necklace while they walk into the hallway. The ginger-haired man makes their bed while the Irishman put his baby to sleep and they lie down together. Anti kisses his forehead and Jack hugs him close, joking that he’s ready for hibernation. It’s finally a night where they don’t get up in time to time and the brown-haired man sleeps heavy, snoring softly.

 

In the morning, Anti is not there.

 

Jack pats the other side of the bed, lying on his stomach, and he frowns when finding it empty. It’s something so weird by now and he huffs, burying his face into a pillow again. He stretches, groaning and cleaning his eyes, and he can hear birds chirping already. There’s soft morning light casting through a window, curtain slightly open, and Jack lazily watches dust particles in the air. It’s so peaceful and Róisín is still asleep, so there’s no rush at all. He’s fully rested and he scratches his beard, sighing. When he looks at that left side of the bed, though, something catches his eye. There’s a small note over Anti’s pillow and the boy takes it, seeing the artist’s shaky handwriting. _Meet me outside._ Jack smiles, thinking that the freckled man is being sweet, and he wonders if he made breakfast this time. The Irishman gets up from bed with a yawn, checking on his baby before going to the bathroom. He empties his bladder and brushes his teeth, getting ready for another day.

 

He puts on some pants and dresses in a white shirt, walking towards the door. When he opens it, he stops in his tracks and his eyebrows go up. There are red petals on the floor, all across the hallway, and there’s another note over some of them. Jack’s heart clenches and his lips part, taking it in his hands. _You asked me what I was writing the other day._ The brown-haired man huffs, walking on petals, feet bare. The further he goes, the more notes he sees, and he can’t believe in what Anti is doing. He doesn’t know what this is, but the image of the man preparing all of that while the boy was asleep, warms his heart. Jack reads them all, sunlight coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows, and his eyebrows knit at the man’s words.

 

_ It’s been always difficult for me to express myself, to find the right words, and I’m sure you know that by now. I’ve been thinking of you a lot. I think about you all the time, really. About when we met and where we are now. I know that it hasn’t been that long since we met, but it certainly feels like it. To me, at least. It feels like you’ve always been here. Or rather, it makes me wish that you were. From the start. Perhaps things would be different. Maybe I would be different… But I think it’s safe to say that we’ve been stronger now, more than ever. _

 

Jack stops on the stairs landing, picking more pieces of paper, and there’s that painting behind him. A younger Abél and Andreas. There’s a sea of roses in the lobby, a bunch of bouquets along with petals on the floor, and the Irishman’s eyes burn with tears. His heart beats faster, not quite understanding what’s happening, but already getting so emotional. He walks down the stairs with care, collecting all the notes.

 

_ The day you said you loved me, I felt all the air leave my lungs. It hit me like a storm, washing away all my doubts and fears, and I thought it was funny that you beat me to it. For some reason, I thought I was going to say it first, but you are unpredictable. You are a kite, flying freely and doing what pleases you without fear. I’m a string and you taught me how to look up and find something to hold onto. You give me a reason to wake up in the morning. You make me want to get lost in your ocean eyes. You and Róisín walked into my life and I never thought I would feel afraid of losing something like that. I had forgotten how it felt to care. To make mistakes and learn from them. To love. _

 

The Irishman sniffs, following the path of roses, and it leads him under the stairs. He walks in that small hallway, passing next to that burned door and the library.

 

_ I was lost when you left. It felt like I was walking on unsteady grounds and that I would just waiting to fall. You had all the right reasons to do so and you did what your heart desired. It was my fault, I know. But it made me realize how much you and little rose meant to me. I saw how scared you were when she got sick and it broke something in me. I would give anything to make you happy. Both of you. These past few days haven’t been easy for you and I’ve been trying my best to ease your pain. Your daughter is incredibly lucky to have you. Everyone should know how lucky they are just to be around you. You are the sun, shining so bright, and I’m spellbound. Anyways… As I was saying, you asked what I was writing… _

 

Jack takes his eyes off a note, looking outside, and he steps on the porch with teary eyes. His throat’s closing, touched by the man’s words, and he holds back a whimper when seeing Anti across the garden. He’s just standing there, arms behind his back, wearing a black long-sleeved shirt. The artist’s hair practically glows under the sun, moving with the chill breeze, and Jack’s breathing picks up. There’s a last note on the ground and the boy forces himself to look away from Anti, leaning down to read it with shaky hands.

 

_ I’ve been thinking about this for a while. You’ll probably think I’m insane and you’re not quite wrong. You made me lost my mind. I’m drowning in love for you. For Róisín. Every since you came here, since you kissed me - again, you beat me to that -, since you dragged me out of bed and shook my world. I knew that I was going to fall for you when you laughed in the kitchen, making a peach pie. When you shared your pain but also your warmth. Whenever you smiled at me, I just knew. You are bold. Strong and yet so kind. You make me want to be a better person and I want you to see that. So… I have a question for you, if you don’t mind. _

 

Jack’s lips quiver and he walks through the garden, roses all around them. He holds all the notes close to his chest, asking what is the man doing, and his voice is strained. The Irishman stops in front of Anti and they exchange a shy smile. The boy’s heart aches and he lets a sob when the freckled man goes down on one knee, looking up at him. Jack can’t fucking believe in this and he curses under his breath. Oh, god. Fuck. This has to be a dream. This can’t be real. The artist swallows, raising his arms, and there’s a small red box in his trembling hands. Anti licks his lips, clearing his throat, and he speaks slowly. Words slightly shaking, nervous.

 

“Seán…” he begins, green eyes focused on blue. “You wanted to know what I said to you the other day, in bed. I said that I want to wake up next to you, every day of my life… I don’t want to see myself without you. I know it hasn’t been that long, but there’s no such thing as time. That’s the least of our problems. I… I’m madly in love with you. I love you more than anything… Will you marry me?”

 

Anti opens the box, revealing a white gold ring inside. It has two leaves, one on each side, wrapping around a white gem, and it’s so delicate. Jack’s heart races and his face scrunches up, feeling too much. Holy shit, this is really happening. Anti just  _ proposed _ to him. The Irishman knows he can count on the man, especially after both of them taking care of Róisín, and he’s just so content with him. Jack’s been so goddamn happy and he loves waking up next to the artist. The Irishman loves when the man paints him and when he chuckles with a snort. It feels right and it’s been like that for a while. The freckled man purses his lips, watching the boy cry, and Jack sucks in air. He nods, bursting into more tears, smearing down his face.

 

“Y-Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, Abél! I w-wanna marry you!”

 

The artist lets out a whimper, standing up, and Jack just stares at him in awe. Anti’s shaking, taking the ring of the box and extending an arm. The boy lets him take his left hand and he just blinks at his lover, seeing that burned side and thinking about what they’ve been through. Jack looks down to see Anti putting an engagement ring on his finger and it fits him just right. They lock their gaze and the ginger-haired man has unshed tears in his eyes. The Irishman tigthens his hold around the notes, shaking his head, and he calls Anti crazy. The man just huffs, caressing the boy’s cheek. Jack swears and he throws his arms around Anti’s shoulders, capturing their lips into a kiss. The freckled man holds his waist, lifting him up, and they share a warm kiss. They tilt their heads, hearts beating like a drum, and Jack sobs into their mouths. Anti sighs, not letting him go, and quiet tears stream down his face. The brown-haired man kisses them away, half laughing, half crying.

 

He leaves chaste kisses on the man’s marred skin, his droopy eye and long scar, and he’s just  _ overwhelmed. _ Jack’s hit by a wave of happiness, a raw emotion that consumes him whole. There are light chuckles between their lips and long sighs, both caressing each other. They’re engaged. They’re fucking  _ engaged.  _ Anti mumbles that he loves him once more and Jack’s heart flutters, calling him silly. So dramatic, as well. All these notes and flowers. Is this what he meant by proving how he felt and why he was so nervous? God, this man. They keep kissing each other, whispering sweet nothings, and their heart is full. Jack buries his face in the crook of Anti’s neck, breathing into his scent, and they just stand there for a moment. Holding each other. He closes his eyes, pecking his lover’s skin, and it’s such a joy that comes after what it’s been going on.

 

He’s so in love.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this thought since the beginning of this story and I honestly couldn't wait for you guys to read this part! I've been wanting to do this for a long time and I really hope it feels right, not too sudden! I won't lie, I got pretty emotional writing this chapter. There's something about seeing your characters getting together like that, having something so huge happen to them... It makes me wish something like that too hah! Oh and I was reading about baby colds so much, I hope it makes sense and not too crazy as well! I was drowning in articles and websites! :')
> 
> [The engagement ring! ](https://www.etsy.com/listing/482229688/14k-and-moissanite-wedding-rings?ref=shop_home_active_40)(it's the one with the gem, it's two bc they match but for now just that one! hoho)  
> 


	26. Chapter 26

Jack stares at his left hand, moving his fingers, and the white gold ring shines against the light. His lips part in deep thought, sitting on a stair step, and Anti is next to him. The man has Róisín on his lap and she’s sucking on her pacifier while playing with his locks. Jack shakes his head, coming back from that high, and he looks at that sea of roses in the lobby. He whispers that they are going to marry, stating the obvious, and Anti hums. The Irishman runs a hand through his hair, drawing in air, and he’s stopped crying by now. The corners of his eyes are red and he’s just staring at the roses with wide eyes, thinking. Fuck. He touches that necklace over his chest, wrapping his fingers around it to ground himself. When Jack wants to know when did Anti start thinking of this, the man whispers it was in the end of November and that he was talking to Andreas about it for a while. That’s just surreal. The brown-haired man turns his face to lock their gaze, knitting his eyebrows, and he looks for something in those green eyes.

 

“Abél…” he purses his lips, heart skipping a beat, and his thoughts are clearer now. “Are you sure? I-I… Are you sure you want _this_? Us? It’s not just me, there’s Róisín and… I… This is fucking serious.”

 

Anti grunts, going back to his murmurs and light scowl. Hard to call him grumpy with a cute baby on his lap, though. “I thought I made myself clear. Are you having second thoughts?”

 

“God, no! It’s just… It’s just a lot to process.”

 

“I want this,” the artist whispers. “I want you, mio amore.”

 

There’s that hint of worry in Anti’s eyes and Jack knows how that feels. The freckled man must be anxious as well, wondering about so many things just like the boy. It’s not just him overthinking it and that puts a smile on the Irishman’s face. Right. They’re both silly. There’s just so much going on in their minds, both facing something new once again. It may seem a bit scary but it doesn’t mean it’s not exciting. They don’t have to talk about details, not right now. There’s no rush and they can tell their friends later as well. The boy wants to enjoy this moment with him first. To just let these thoughts settle down in their hearts. Jack says he won’t be cleaning any of this and that makes Anti snort. They stay in the living room then, while Róisín stays on her playmat. The Irishman places a rose behind the artist’s ear, tucking his hair, and they keep glancing at each other. Anti traces the ring around Jack’s finger and they exchange shy smiles, cheeks flushing. The freckled man murmurs that he can’t believe that the boy agreed to this. That he doesn’t deserve such happiness but he desperately wants to try earning it.

 

There’s that light feeling in the air as the days pass and there are butterflies in their stomach. It’s like they’re walking on clouds, so different and yet so welcome. Anti is so calm, at peace. He spends more time with Róisín and her laughter echoes in the house. She completes six months and she seems so happy. There are glass jars around the place, filled with petals, that decorates their dresses and counters. Jack doesn’t get tired to walk by bouquets, in every hallway, and he keeps all of Anti’s notes in a small golden chest. They bake together. They have tea while watching tv shows and Róisín tries crawling. Jack practically shouts for the artist to get the camera when she continues and they are both cheering her in the living room. She’s looking up at her bunny in the Irishman’s hands and she’s making loud sounds. Jack’s heart clenches when his baby slowly pushes herself up, one hand stepping forward to crawl. Their cheers turn soft, too in awe by her, and Róisín lifts her other arm up to move more. She’s clumsy and she almost falls a couple of times, but they let her figure it out.

 

The Irishman loves her chubby legs and she’s crawling towards him, smiling big. Jack tears up when she sits in front of him, hands in the air to get her bunny, and he gives it to her. He picks her up and kisses his daughter’s forehead, praising her. Anti ruffles her short brown hair and she shrieks in happiness. It’s a sweet moment and, even though Jack knew this day would happen, it’s still so touching to see his child grow. She’s so attached to Anti as well and it’s amazing to watch these two. The freckled man plays with her on the soft carpet and Jack fidgets with that ring around his finger, a hint of a smile on his face. He hums to himself, thinking. The brown-haired man realizes that this is something he’d see every day. That Anti would be in his life like that, raising Róisín. He also remembers that they’ll call everyone to come there tomorrow and that makes him even more anxious. Jack’s lips part and his heart does something funny. It hurts, like a knot in his chest, and he knits his eyebrows. He’s hit by so many thoughts.

 

What if Anti gets tired of them? Of him? What happens if the man realizes that this is not what he wanted? What if everything is not as perfect as they wanted it to be or-

 

“Seán,” the artist brings him back to reality and Jack blinks tears away, staring at him with a beating heart. “You’re overthinking it.”

 

The Irishman opens his mouth to speak but closes it, taking a deep breath instead. He wants to think clear and not straight up panic over something stupid. He bites his bottom lip, spinning the ring, and Anti’s still lying down across from him. Róisín plays with her rattle and Jack looks at them, the corners of his eyes slightly burning with so many questions. It won’t be good if he keep these doubts to himself though, so he lets it out. The brown-haired man talks about those whispers suddenly overwhelming him and how soon all of this is. Anti scowls the more the boy talks and he shakes his head, sitting up. Jack sighs, placing a hand over his forehead, and he mumbles an apology. He’s fucking it up. The copper-haired man takes a moment to answer, both just listening to Róisín play, and he touches the boy’s hand. Anti holds it, looking down at that beautiful jewelry, and he caresses Jack’s skin with rough fingers.

 

“Do you love me?” Anti whispers and Jack answers in a heartbeat.

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

“Then that is more than enough for me to keep going. We’ll figure it out, but it’s best to focus on now.”

 

Damn. When did Anti start talking like that? Jack huffs, saying just that, and the freckled man mumbles he learned with the boy. Anti moves to be next to him and the Irishman entwines their fingers with a small smile. They look at Róisín and the boy inhales, nodding to himself. He rests his head against the artist’s shoulder and they distract themselves. Jack decides to try baking cinnamon rolls for tomorrow and Anti hums, thinking their friends would like it and that he can help. It’s comforting to know that he can count on the man like that now. That’s a good thing. Jack tells himself to focus on that and he touches that silver necklace, thinking of his sister. It’s a thought that doesn’t feel as heavy as before. The Irishman always wonders what she would do in certain situations and he rather uses her memory for strength, not grief. They’ve both grown in their own ways but Jack still needs to let go more and not let his fears overwhelm him. It’s a constant learning lesson.

 

They are both a ball of anxiety in the next day, though.

 

Anti is grumbling in the morning, pacing back and forth, and it took him almost an hour to decide which hair style he wanted. Jack didn’t think it would matter that much and the artist just puffed his cheeks earlier, going for a ponytail. Jack’s in the kitchen now, sighing, and he’s wearing a black and yellow shirt. They’ve agreed to tell everyone during breakfast, just setting up a nice spot on the porch, and the cinnamon rolls are cooling off on the counter. Anti is the one that goes to open the door for Ethan, Tucker and Tyler. Jack tries to keep himself busy, jiggling his leg and swallowing hard. He hears Andreas soon after, with his boyfriends, and they are talking about all the flowers around the house. The Irishman puts some pastries on a tray, along with coffee and tea, and he goes to meet them with a nervous smile. He really doesn’t know why they are so jittery. They are their friends and there’s nothing that can go wrong. Maybe it’s the fact that by saying out loud, to other people, it’ll make it even more real.

 

It reminds Jack of Christmas, seeing everyone together, and that puts a smile on his face. He greets everyone on the porch, all of them on their seats and having breakfast. There are fruits and pastries on the table, waffles and muffins. Andreas is adding so much syrup over his pancakes and Robin is grimacing, eating a piece of papaya. Ethan is holding Róisín for a bit and she’s wearing a light green dress. It’s not that hard for everyone to figure out something is up, especially when Jack and Anti doesn’t sit down yet. The ginger-haired man clears his throat, clenching his hands, and the morning light bathes the place beautifully. They exchange a look and the Irishman’s heart beats against his ribcage, smiling at his lover. When he stares back at their friends, he opens his mouth to speak, and it’s funny to see everyone’s expression lighting up.

 

“We’re getting married.”

 

Tucker is the first to swear out loud and there’s laughter in the air. Andreas smirks from across the table at Anti and the artist grunts when people hug him. Jack flushes when Robin goes to him and they share their thoughts between a grin. It’s a relief to know that everyone is happy for them and they are more than glad to celebrate it. Anti’s cheeks redden as well and he’s trying to keep it together but Jack can tell that he’s flustered. Once everyone sits back at the table, they all want to know who proposed and how it was. The ginger-haired man rubs the back of his neck and Jack’s holding Róisín now, looking at him. He stutters at first and the Irishman is amused by that. He wants to hear Anti’s side of the story and it’s so endearing to see him explaining. The freckled man even wanted to propose him sooner but Róisín got sick, so she needed them the most. He had to set another date for when the bouquets would arrive and Jack caresses Róisín’s hair with a light chuckle.

 

They don’t mention what was written in the notes. That is just for him and Anti to know. They adore Jack’s ring and it’s a bit weird showing it to everyone, not used to such a thing. Not uncomfortable, just surreal. When Ethan asks them if they thought how the wedding will be, they both stop for a moment. The Irishman didn’t think he could blush even more and he tightens his hold around the baby, not knowing what to say. Anti half shrugs, shaking his head, and says that they haven’t discussed anything yet. There’s no rush but he makes it clear that if Jack wants a ceremony, they will have it. The brown-haired man purses his lips, thinking about it.

 

“I don’t want to have a final word on that,” he says. “I want both of us to work together. Your opinion matter as much as mine. It’s not just me who has to decide.”

 

Anti blinks, as if just now understanding something so simple. “Ah.”

 

“Are you sure you wanna spend the rest of your life with that bacon?” Andreas interrupts them and Justin bursts into laughter with Tyler.

 

Jack rolls his eyes but he’s glad to see everyone having fun and enjoying breakfast. Anti threatens to fire everyone, his way of joking around, and the Irishman nudges him with a snort. He feeds Róisín and Anti places an arm behind his back, resting on the chair. The freckled man caresses Jack’s shoulder, sipping from his tea, and that mansion is once again filled with happiness. Laughter and warmth. It’s definitely a good way to start a day and he talks to Robin, next to him. The brown-haired man zones out sometimes, not quite listening to them but liking that background noise. Róisín shrieks and babbles, hands towards Anti, so Jack focuses back to give her to him. The artist raises her in the air, her pretty green dress moving with the wind, and she laughs. Anti gently rocks her, pretending that she’s dancing, and someone mentions how much he’s changed. Andreas glances at him every now and then, and the boy sends him a warm grin while playing with his necklace.

 

It’s only when they start moving to the living room that the younger brother approaches him, hands in his pockets. Jack’s placing their plates on a tray and Anti is talking to Ethan a few feet away. Andreas’s curly hair is all over his forehead and he puffs some strands of hair away from his face. The boy arches an eyebrow at him.

 

“Hang out with me tonight,” he mutters and the Irishman frowns, not understanding. “You look like you need it.”

 

Jack’s certain that it doesn’t help asking for further details with these brothers. They’re always so vague, he’s used to it by now. He looks at Anti in the distance, with his daughter in his arms, and he hums. The Irishman nods and Andreas turns his face to his brother, speaking louder with a smirk.

 

“Bell! I’m borrowing your fiance tonight!”

 

Jack lets out a strained sound when hearing those words and Anti sends his brother a disapproving look from afar, but says nothing. They set a time for when the dark-haired man will pick him up and they all walk inside. Their friends stay a little longer, enjoying being there, and Jack calms down. He checks on Anti and the man is more relaxed, liking to have the baby close too. Everything goes well and they all congratulate them again before leaving, hugging and smiling. Andreas doesn’t let the Irishman forget about their plans and the boy half groans, half laughs at him. Anti sighs when they close the door and they’re alone, though. It’s always good to have company and talk to their friends, but the artist likes the quiet the most for sure. Jack cups his cheeks, saying that he’s content in this morning, and the freckled man leans down for a chaste kiss. Anti’s the one who takes care of the dishes while he takes care of Róisín, watching her crawl again. They’re back to their usual routine but Jack is left wondering what Andreas wants to talk about. It never crossed the boy’s mind that there’s a possibility of him not liking the proposal that much and now he’s slightly worried.

 

Jack poses for Anti in the afternoon again, his back turned to the artist while looking to the side. The copper-haired man walks up to him at some point, standing behind him. There are arms resting around the boy’s waist, and he whispers about Jack’s moles. He kisses each one of them, making the Irishman shiver and hold back a smile. Anti gently wraps a hand around the Irishman’s throat, pulling him, and Jack rests his back against the man’s chest. He looks up at the artist and they open their mouths for a long kiss, tongues brushing and sighs leaving their lips. Jack’s wearing nothing but the ring and necklace, and it’s not a surprise now that Anti smears him with paint. It makes the brown-haired man grin between their kisses, moaning softly when the man tightens his hold around his neck. Their beards brush and Jack loves the sound of their lips in the room, lazily feeling each other. Anti kisses his neck, so tender-like, and the Irishman has goosebumps. They always end up tangled around each other when he poses for the artist.

 

It’s irresistible and they don’t stop this time, just lying there on the floor and touching themselves. It’s a mess of paint and laughter, rolling around in that workshop. Jack likes Anti close like that, both breathing heavy into their mouths while moving together. He loves locking his legs around the man’s waist and just feeling it all. They fit so well, it’s so perfect. _Perfect._ His lungs fill with air and they mewl in the room, holding tight. The freckled man whispers sweet nothings into his ear and Jack throws his head back in pleasure. Anti’s copper hair brushes against them, disheveled, and his lips are pink from kissing. Cheeks flushed and pupils wide. It never fails to stop Jack’s heart for a split second, drowning in that beauty. There’s something so lovely and overpowering to be doing something so intimate in the workshop too, knowing what happened. Jack wants them to have good memories there and that makes him hug Anti more, panting in the crook of his neck. They shudder and their knuckles turn white, both coming undone with their racing hearts.

 

When night falls, it’s difficult to leave Anti’s arms but Jack takes a shower before getting dressed. The copper-haired man likes it when the boy puts on his black, long-sleeved shirt, and they hear Andreas honking outside. Jack kisses Anti goodbye and ruffles his daughter’s hair before leaving, greeting the man. The younger brother is on his motorcycle, wearing a leather jacket. All black, but his choker is bright green. He grins at the Irishman and gives him a helmet, saying they’re going for a ride. Jack sends him a look, nervous and yet excited about this, and he sits behind Andreas. God. He doesn’t do this since he was in college and the dark-haired man laughs when he says that. They drive away and he holds onto the man, not used to such speed. Andreas seems to be having fun and they keep driving for quite a while, reaching the city and passing by cars. It makes Jack not think of anything, just grounding himself with the sound of wind and the blurred lights around them.

 

Andreas takes a turn, finding a park and driving up a hill. It’s darker and quiet there, different from what Jack was expecting. It’s only when they reach the top of it that the younger man stops, taking off his helmet and ruffling his hair. The Irishman does the same and he frowns at Andreas, asking what they’re doing. The brother just makes a motion for him to follow to the edge of it and Jack walks with him. There’s a bench that has seen better days but the boy’s eyebrows go up at the sight. They can see the city from there, all those artificial lights shining in the dark, and there’s just the sound of leaves dancing with the wind. No traffic. Andreas sits on the bench, taking out a small flask from his jacket and sipping from it. Jack mumbles something about Anti and him really being brothers and Andreas snorts, offering him some. The Irishman sits next to him, taking the flask, and he makes a face when tasting whiskey.

 

“Why did you bring me here, An?” he asks and there’s a moment of silence, just them watching that beautiful view.

 

“You were staring off a lot this morning and you seemed so nervous,” Andreas begins, knitting his eyebrows. “I knew Bell wanted to propose to you and I am happy for you guys. Truly. But I just wanted to make sure of how you’re really feeling.”

 

“Oh my god,” Jack laughs. “You’re pulling me into a brother-in-law talk. You don’t want me to hurt Abél.”

 

The dark-haired man sips again from the flask and they keep sharing. He shrugs, pursing his lips. “I do love my brother and I want him happy.”

 

The Irishman takes a deep breath, looking at a sea of light in the distance, and he gets it why they are there. It’s far away from everything about their lives. There’s nothing to interfere or confuse their emotions. It’s just silence. Jack smiles to himself, liking Andreas, and he opens his mouth to speak. He talks about those doubts from before and what happened yesterday, worrying over what can happen. They’ve never really had a proper, deep conversation, and Jack welcomes that side of Andreas. The younger man listens and they exchange thoughts in the night, sharing a drink. It’s definitely a part of the man that he wants to know more and he’s happy that they are there. Andreas says that all this worry is normal, that every couple must go through these things, but what truly matters is the love between people. The rest will be solved with time, little by little.

 

“I never thought I would feel so much passion,” Jack mutters. “It’s so scary sometimes but, my god… An… He’s… _Everything._ Even when he pisses me off or I screw up… It’s so good to be with him and I don’t want to lose that. We’ve been through so much and we bring each other up, not matter how hard it is. Do you know what I mean?”

 

Andreas looks down, kicking dirt with his boot, and he smiles. A hint of red on his cheeks and it’s not because of the alcohol. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I do.”

 

Jack shoves his shoulder playfully and they both chuckle, thinking of their boyfriends. It eases the boy’s heart in a whole new level, being with Andreas tonight. Talking like this. It makes him excited for what they can do, what can happen. The good and even bad things. The dark-haired man makes him realize that Jack won’t be alone in this. He won’t experience these things all by himself. Anti will be there with him. Róisín and Andreas. Ethan. Tucker. Everyone. They look ahead, enjoying this moment, and they keep talking for a long time. Andreas mentions his boyfriends and they share knowing grins, but also struggles. It’s something Jack will keep it in his heart, for sure, and this brings them together even more. He plays with the jewelry around his finger, humming, and he’s confident. Jack wants to make Anti happy. He wants them like that. So fucking much. It will be alright.

 

Yeah.

 

He will marry Abél and he can’t wait for it.

 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

It’s May 28th.

 

Jack stares at himself in front of a full-body mirror and there are butterflies in his stomach that threatens to consume him whole. He’s wearing a black suit, with a pastel yellow tie around his neck that matches his handkerchief. It fits him nicely, made by measure, and he likes how his hips stand out like that. Jack’s hair is combed to the side, neatly in place in a modern style, and he touches the silver handcuffs from his suit. He swallows hard, beard freshly trimmed, and it feels like his heart will burst. The Irishman’s black leather shoes shine and he feels the weight of that rose necklace under his formal shirt. He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off anxiety, and there’s a knock on the door. When Jack turns his face to see who it is, he’s met with Andreas walking in with Róisín in his arms. She’s wearing a beautiful white dress, with a flower headband, and she smiles wide when looking a them. Andreas grins as well, closing the door, and the man’s also so formal. Curls tamed, brushed back, and his green bowtie matches the color of his eyes.

 

It’s been a little more than four months since they’ve talked about the wedding and they decided to have a small ceremony, with their best friends. They rented a beautiful place. A house with a field surrounded by trees and flowers. It was a gorgeous view and they fell in love with it. The ceremony will be outside and there’ll be a tent for the party. Seeing Róisín now, with his future brother-in-law, makes him remember wonderful moments. He’s been so close to Andreas after that night on a hill and he loved seeing his baby grow more. She’s babbling a lot, paying attention to what they say, and she’s getting picky. Róisín seems to understand them better, now with eleven months, and she goes around a room standing, holding onto furniture for a while. The younger brother finally got on her good side and it’s difficult to separate these two now, without cries. Anti is trying to make her say _Papà_ , in italian, but Jack is confident that it’ll be _Daddy_ first.

 

“How is he?” the Irishman asks, tugging on his tie.

 

“A fucking mess,” Andreas giggles. “Ethan is trying to calm him down in the other room and something tells me I’ll have to do the same with you.”

 

“Yes, I’m freaking out.”

 

The younger brother approaches him and Jack takes Róisín for a moment, rocking her gently. She’s looking around, all curious, and he stops her from grabbing his handkerchief. Róisín’s first front teeth showed up a couple of months ago and she wants to chew on so many things. She also found her new love to drop things and laugh at their sound. It’s been quite funny. Andreas whistles, saying he looks handsome, and Jack just huffs before pacing around the room.

 

“Jack, you will be fine. Both of you,” the man continues with a smile, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “It’s clear as day that you guys love each other.”

 

Okay. Breathe. Andreas is not wrong, he knows that. Jack kisses his daughter’s forehead before giving her to the man, saying he’s ready. They do hug each other and the brother will make sure that Anti will be waiting outside. The Irishman nods, running his palms down his thighs out of anxiety, and he lets out a shaky breath. It takes him another minute to leave the room, fixing his hair and clearing his throat, and Robin meets him halfway with a smile. They hug tight and it’s his best friend that takes his arm, leading them outside. It’s such an overwhelming emotion, so raw. It’s so hard to describe. It takes over him, a mix of fear but also excitement. There’s a soft tune in the air, along with trees dancing with the wind. The afternoon sun is up on the sky and a small band announces his arrival. There are beautiful arrangements while they walk on freshly cut grass and the Irishman sees their guests, sitting on white chairs.

 

His heart is beating like a drum and he can see Anti slowly coming into view, an archway made of roses behind him. His fingers wrap around Robin’s arm and his friend whispers that it’ll be alright, coaxing him to keep going. The corners of Jack’s lips turn into a smile, ear to ear, and he can’t take his eyes off Anti. The freckled man is wearing a black suit as well, a yellow rose on his left pocket, and his hands are behind his back. Anti’s hair is braided in a loose manner, reaching down to his back, and there’s a yellow bow near the end of his locks. He looks stunning, freckles standing out under the sun, and Jack loves how some ginger strands of hair fall around his face. Jack does look at their friends while walking between them and it’s such a warm feeling in his heart. There are just around fifteen people, nothing crowded, but it is their world. Some of them brought their sisters and nieces, Ethan is with his girlfriend, Justin also brought his company and they’re all just family.

 

They come to a stop in front of Anti and there’s a moment of silence. Robin kisses Jack’s cheek before staying on the left, and the boy steps on a small platform to meet his lover. Andreas is on Anti’s right and it’s Tucker who stands between them. They wanted this ceremony to be intimate, simple. They asked the light-haired man if he could marry them and they were all happy when he was approved to do such a thing. The ginger-haired man just shakes his head at the Irishman, lips parting. He touches Jack’s hands, wrapping his fingers there, and he’s not wearing gloves this time. It’s so good to feel that rough skin against his and they exchange such a big grin, their cheeks hurt. He’s shaking but it is somehow comforting knowing that Anti’s like that too. They stare for just a moment but it feels like forever. Jack takes it in his beauty but also imperfections. Mismatched eyes and scars. He loves it all. Anti seems to be holding himself in place and the boy chuckles under his breath.

 

“Mamma mia, mio amore,” the artist whispers. “You’re breathtaking.”

 

Jack’s eyes turn into half-moons. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

Tucker’s voice fills the air and their hearts beat fast, both tightening their hold while listening. Their friends are quiet and everyone is full of joy.

 

“We’re gathered here today, to share with Seán and Abél, an important moment in their lives. They have seen their love and understanding of each other. We saw them grow, through light and darkness. They’ve blossom to show that their love is not owned by time. Love doesn’t know space nor time. It’s genuine. Pure and kind. It brings the best of us and we’ve seen what it does to them. Let it be happiness. Let it be vulnerability. Seán and Abél promise to embrace conflict as well as peace. To work as well as play. To be with, to stay with, and move forward as one.”

 

Jack swallows hard, the corners of his eyes burning with unshed tears. Tucker is saying beautiful words, touching their hearts, and he didn’t know it was going to be like this. The Irishman would’ve never imagined himself there, standing in front of friends, with the man that he loves. It’s surreal and yet he wants to keep it in his heart. He wants to remember every second of it. Anti’s the first to say his vows and Jack really has to fight back tears, not handling it.

 

“I, Abél, take you, Seán, to be my husband,” he speaks and the boy smiles at that word. “To be my friend and my love from this day forward. I offer you my solemn vow to be your partner in sickness and in health, in joy but also sorrow. Even in our darkness moments, I promise to never leave your side. I want to cherish you, to make you happy. I want to cry and laugh with you for as long as both shall live.”

 

“I, Seán, take you, Abél, to be my husband…” Jack starts and his is shakier, holding back a sob. “M-My faithful partner and friend. I want to grow old with you and I’ll be by your side until time takes us. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me… Second best thing, actually. Róisín always comes first, you know that.” That gets a laugh from their friends and Anti snorts, but nods. Jack chuckles, a couple of tears escaping from his sapphire eyes. ”You told me once that you want to wake up next to me every day… And I’m here to say that I’ll fall in love with you e-every morning.”

 

Anti hums, a grin on his face, and his eyes are so teary. They look to the side and there’s Ethan slowly coming over with Róisín in his arms, holding their rings. Jack can’t help but let out a breathless laugh, loving to see his daughter being part of this. Their white gold ring matches the engagement one perfectly, with five leaves wrapped around each other. Tucker guides him through it and they both repeat his words, putting on each other’s ring with care. Anti brushes Jack’s hand while muttering his line and the boy’s heart aches.

 

“I give you this ring as an eternal symbol of my love and commitment to you.”

 

“By the power vested in me… And what a nice power to have, may I say,” Tucker continues and they laugh. “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss. Make it a good one.”

 

They move forward and Anti cups his cheeks, rubbing his thumbs there. They close the gap between them in no time, dying to be closer, and Jack sighs into his mouth. They tilt their heads and his heart flutters, letting his lips fall open to taste his husband. There are cheers in the air and they’re smiling between their kiss, wrapping their arms around their waist. Their lips make a sound when pulling away and Anti rests his forehead against the boy’s, whispering his love to him. The Irishman giggles, overjoyed, and it’s difficult to step back. There are rose petals being throw over them and Andreas whistles while they walk between their friends, holding hands. Anti takes the lead, guiding Jack to a private part of the house while their guests go to the party. The Irishman’s cheeks hurt so much from smiling, it’s insane. Once they’re inside, Anti pushes him against a wall. The artist devours his mouth, making Jack moan, and their beards brush. The brown-haired man throws his arms over the man’s shoulders, pecking his lips.

 

“W-We’re married… I just…” he mumbles. “You married me.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You’re my _husband_.”

 

“I am.”

 

Jack huffs and they stop to look at each other, cupping their cheeks. They calm down their hearts and that realization seems to be only now sinking in. The copper-haired man blinks at him, long eyelashes batting against freckled skin, and they just breathe. Jack brushes his fingers around the man’s ring and they both look down at their hands. This is it. It happened. Jack’s married to him and there’s a party outside, waiting for them. Anti murmurs that he’s gorgeous once more, wiping some tears away from the boy’s face, and Jack sighs. They peck their lips one more time and he compliments the artist’s hair, removing a petal off him. Anti hums with a small grin, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, and they slowly make their way out. The Irishman holds his husband’s hand and they find a big white tent in the middle of the field. Anti pushes a curtain open for him and Andreas announces on a microphone their arrival. There are string lights above them, illuminating the place, and there’s a small dance floor. Bouquets of roses decorate round tables and it’s just so homelike. They didn’t want anything too fancy. It’s rustic and perfect.

 

Anti doesn’t waste time to take Róisín from Ethan and he kisses her cheek. Jack goes to show his love towards her as well and he’s just so proud of his baby. Robin hugs the Irishman, saying he’s so happy to how far he’s come. Everyone is being so goddamn sweet, Jack has to look up at the ceiling so tears won’t fall again. Shit. They open a bottle of champagne and the brown-haired man feels safe. There are no worries in his heart, no shadows lurking in his mind. He sees only his friends’ smiles and hears their laughter. Anti’s green eyes focused on him, filled with warmth. Jack also quickly learns that weddings are sort of a blur. It’s a constant excitement, too much going on. Too much to enjoy. It’s only when things settle down a bit more that the artist gets his attention again, telling him to follow. Jack knits his eyebrows and the freckled man guides him to the middle of the dance floor, but leaves him there. The Irishman watches him move towards a piano that he didn’t notice before and everyone sits at their table, place going quiet.

 

“Abél,” Jack says, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing?”

 

The ginger-haired man sits on the piano and winks at him, bringing a microphone closer to his mouth. Jack just stands there, intrigued, with a half smile on his face. Anti clears his throat and the boy can tell that he’s nervous, scowling to himself and clenching his hands. Still, it doesn’t fail to surprise Jack when he starts playing. The Irishman’s jaw goes slack and he recognizes the first notes immediately. He told Anti about this. He remembers whispering under the covers how much he loved old songs, especially Elvis Presley. It just always bring him a nostalgia, a longing for a time he never lived. Jack’s face scrunches up in emotion when Anti opens his mouth to sing. He knew that the man sang but he never heard him like this. The freckled man’s voice is steady, louder and rough. His hands don’t falter and he’s so concentrated, glancing at Jack. Goddamnit, he’s going to cry again.

 

_“Take my hand… Take my whole life too,”_ Anti sings. _“For I can’t help falling in love with you…”_

 

They lock their gaze and the boy is doing his best to keep himself together, not wanting to bawl his eyes out. Anti smirks, playing and singing, and it’s so lovely to hear him. His voice is full of passion, rich and scratchy. Jack loves it. He loves him so much. The Irishman’s heart skips a beat when the song ends and Anti stands up. There’s just soft whispers in the room and it’s Ethan who comes over to the piano, nodding at the artist. The young man takes over, playing while the freckled man goes to him. The copper-haired man bows briefly before extending an arm and Jack raises an eyebrow, wrapping his hand around Anti’s. The Irishman touches the man’s shoulder and there’s an arm around his waist, both standing close. Chest-to-chest. It’s easy to forget of what’s around them and just focus on them. Jack shakes his head.

 

“You’re crazy,” the boy whispers and they gently sway on the dance floor. “You planned this…”

 

“Had to make it up for our last dance, didn’t I?”

 

The Irishman leans forward to kiss him and he closes his eyes, moving left and right. Anti leads him with care and they peck their lips, over and over. They only step back so the man can spin Jack around but they soon find their hold again. Their friends join them after a while and there’s more music in the room. The brown-haired man takes Róisín so they can sway with her and she likes looking up at the string lights. They have their pictures taken and they eat delicious food, chatting between drinks. Jack does take a moment alone so he can change Róisín and check on her, but she’s doing fine. Anti holds her while she stands on the dance floor and she’s all smiles, curious about this new place. Andreas pulls him for a dance and the artist plays with his daughter in the background. Jack exchanges snarky comments with his brother-in-law and Andreas raises an eyebrow at him, smirking. They’re playful around each other and it comes easily.

 

Robin makes a speech and the Irishman curses under his breath, not wanting to keep crying on his own fucking wedding. His best friend mentions their hard times and the loved ones that they lost. Jack puts a hand over his chest, feeling that necklace underneath, and Anti kisses his temple. Andreas also speaks about overcoming grief and aversion towards ourselves. There are childhood stories shared between them as the sun sets and the boy’s grateful for this day. Jack and Anti cut their three-tiered wedding cake and the sound of another bottle being open makes everyone cheer. The copper-haired man takes a piece to give it to Jack and, when it’s the boy’s turn, he smears Anti’s face with it instead. The artist groans and the Irishman snickers, saying he couldn’t resist. The man pulls him for a kiss, smearing them both with frosting, but Jack gladly kisses back.

 

It’s perfect. Everything. The Irishman never thought he would marry, that he would want something like this. Not so soon. It’s not wrong what they said before, about time and love not caring about it. Anti and Róisín changed everything in his life and Jack would do anything for them. The freckled man showed kindness behind those lonely eyes of his. There was warmth behind anger, a yearning for something. They’re sitting at a table and Jack rests a cheek against a hand, watching his _husband_ with his _daughter._ How crazy is that? Megan would be so proud. He hopes so. Jack’s certain that he has a lopsy grin on his face and he can’t quite hear their words. He’s too distracted thinking about all of this, touching that ring on his finger, and it takes him a moment to realize that Anti is talking to him.

 

“If I knew you would be that happy, I would have proposed to you the first time I saw you.”

 

“Shut up,” Jack snorts. “But do tell me about that last part.”

 

“Mm,” the artist murmurs, calmly spinning his half empty glass over the table. “You were taking care of the garden. No one tried doing that before. You infuriated me, doing what you weren’t supposed to do, but that also made me intrigued. You were different since the start and no matter how many times I frightened you, you still came back. You asked if I was okay and I saw in your eyes that you really cared. It did something to me.”

 

“I was scared, yeah… I was worried over Róisín and I needed to make sure we were in a good place. You nearly gave me a heart attack, picking her up.” Anti grunts at Jack’s words. “Turns out you’re just an old-fashioned mellow man that scowls a lot.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You’re scowling right now,” Tucker jumps in and they chuckle when the man grunts harder.

 

It’s only when night falls that they decide to go. Anti and Jack will spend the first night at their place as usual but they’ll be leaving in the morning for a road trip. The artist said he had a second place, near a beach, and it’d be peaceful for them to spend a few days there. Jack will want to take Róisín with them for sure, but tonight she’ll stay with Robin and Andreas. It’s already so difficult to be away for a few hours from her but they’ll manage. It’ll be alright and he trusts them so much. They all say goodbye and the Irishman kisses his baby, promising they’ll see each other in the morning. Anti takes his hand and they walk away to get inside a car, party muffled once the door is closed. Jack inhales deeply, blinking hard, and the copper-haired man also looks like he’s finally breathing. There are tons of emotions and thoughts, buzzing in his mind and body. Anti looks at him and the boy touches that marred side of his, brushing his thumb on his cheek.

 

The artist leans into his touch and they wrap their arms around one another, sitting close. Jack sighs, closing his eyes and resting his head against Anti’s chest. He can’t wait to get home. The brown-haired man smiles when the man kisses the top of his head and he can’t stop thinking about the word _husband._ His heart is full and this night is far from over.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the cover of Can't Help Falling In Love that I absolutely love and I think it fits Abél singing here: [soundcloud](https://soundcloud.com/shashi-pratap/cant-help-falling-in-love-elvis-presley-cover) | [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/3N2fN0dJA19xukTTorClFJ?si=oOOObzy4T16WIYW0JheM2w) ;u;  
> 


	28. Chapter 28

Anti opens the door to their house and Jack yelps when the man lifts him off the floor. The Irishman laughs loudly, throwing his head back, and the artist holds him bridal-style. He wraps his arms around Anti’s shoulders and the freckled man walks them inside. The boy helps closing the door before kissing the artist’s neck and there’s a huff in the air. They go upstairs and Jack plants future hickeys on his husband, biting his skin. He tugs on Anti’s tie and he likes hearing the man grunt, leading them into a hallway. The Irishman giggles, untying the damn thing, and he pulls the freckled man’s collar up to remove it. Anti tells him not to move too much, not wanting to drop him on the floor, but Jack can’t resist messing with him.

 

They enter the man’s room and he places the boy in bed, falling on top of him. The Irishman hums, pecking their lips, and he unbuttons Anti’s shirt. His eyes flutter when there’s a hand down between his legs, palming him through his pants, and he groans.

 

“A-Anti…” Jack whispers with a smile. “As much as I love w-what you’re doing… I wanna take my time with you. I want us to take a- Ah!”

 

Anti tigthens his grip, biting the boy’s neck hard and licking him there. “Mm, what did you say?”

 

A laugh escapes the Irishman’s lips before he continues, shoulders shaking, and he cups the man’s face so he can pay attention. “A shower, love. I want to be all nice for you… I have a surprise.”

 

The artist perks up at that and he moves his hands to support himself in bed instead, humming. Jack mutters he still wants to have the pleasure of removing his husband’s clothes, tugging on the man’s formal shirt and pushing it down his arms. Anti growls when the Irishman pulls his belt, unbuckling it, and they sit up in bed to remove his pants. Jack touches his snake tattoo and marred skin, moaning when the man leans down to his neck. He’s not helping at all. Fuck. The brown-haired man wants to do this right and it takes a lot of effort not to fall for Anti’s tricks. He’s so impatient, it makes the boy huff. The artist takes off Jack’s blazer and shirt as well, both undressing themselves, and they caress each other. The Irishman groans when pulling down Anti’s boxer briefs, seeing his cock half-hard, and he takes a deep breath. The copper-haired man licks him behind a ear, split tongue tasting him, and Jack shivers. God, this feels so good.

 

“Calm down, big boy…” he warns the man. “C’mon.”

 

Anti grunts, biting Jack’s earlobe, and the boy doesn’t let him take off his underwear. He kisses his husband one last time before pulling back, leaving the bed. The artist knits his eyebrows so hard and he looks so hurt, it makes Jack laugh. The Irishman says that they’ll shower _alone_ , in different bathrooms. It’ll give him time to organize his surprise. Anti doesn’t look so happy, grumbling about this killing the mood, but Jack promises it’ll be worth it. He hopes so, at least. He can’t let Anti see him and that’s the only way. The freckled man sighs but nods, raising his hands in the air as if giving up. The Irishman bites his bottom lip and he can’t stop himself from stealing another harsh kiss from his lover. He tugs on the artist’s braided hair, sucking on his split tongue. There’s a moan in the air and Anti’s eyes stay shut for a few seconds when they break the kiss. Jack grins and turns around to leave the room, ignoring a soft whine behind him.

 

The brown-haired man has to keep himself together and not run in the hallway, heart beating fast in expectation. Good god. He’s so happy, his skin is buzzing. His body feels too small to contain all this whirlwind of emotions. When entering his previous bedroom, Jack all but throws his boxer briefs across the floor and goes to the bathroom. He steps inside the shower and cleans himself with care, covering his body with soap. It’s a good moment to just step back and relax, grounding himself. The boy thinks of their wedding and he remembers their friends’ smiles. Everything felt like a dream. The best one he could ever had. Megan would’ve loved it and that thought doesn’t take the grin off his face. When Jack finishes showering, he dries himself without any hurry, and he steps out of the bathroom. The Irishman opens a closet, pushing some clothes away until he finds what he wants. He takes something else from a drawer, putting everything over his bed, and he nods to himself.

 

Jack touches the soft material and gets dressed, cursing under his breath when trying to figure things out. It feels a bit odd but he’s not against it. He likes how the fabric wraps around his body and how the sleeves fall over his shoulders. The Irishman takes a look in the mirror, turning around to see his back exposed, and he clears his throat before finally leaving the room. The end of his outfit brushes against the floor and he swallows hard, clenching his hands in an anxious manner. Jack knocks on Anti’s door before slowly opening it, seeing the man naked in bed with a towel over his shoulder. He’s untangling his braided hair, running his hand through it, and there’s that citric scent in the air. When the freckled man looks up at him, his eyes widen and he strengthens himself in bed, watching Jack walking in and closing the door. Anti drops the towel on the floor and the boy purses his lips, doing his best not to hide himself. He looks down at his own outfit and then back at his husband.

 

The Irishman’s wearing a white, lace dress. It’s tight around his waist, showing his curves, and there’s lace falling over his shoulders. The end of it is loose and see-through, thin layer with white flowers. Jack wishes he could have used a corset, but he would need help for that, so maybe next time. It’s rather simple but he hopes this pleases Anti nonetheless. The artist takes a moment to say something, mouth opening and closing. Jack waits, although nervous.

 

“You’re wearing a dress,” Anti states the obvious and the boy huffs with a smile, nodding. The man takes a deep breath and the next time he speaks, his voice is steady. Demanding. “Turn around.”

 

It sends shivers down Jack’s spine and he does what he’s told, gently spinning to show his exposed back. There’s just the sound of fabric shuffling in the room, dress embracing the boy, and Anti hums. He calls Jack and the brown-haired man gladly goes to him, both exchanging a look in the dim room. When he’s right in front of his husband, Anti takes his left hand and kisses him there. Fingers brushing against his ring. Jack smiles and he wants to drown in those emerald eyes when Anti stares up at him. There’s something about this night that makes them whisper and every light touch feels like fireworks. The Irishman lifts his dress, folding just a bit to show his thighs, and he guides the man’s hand underneath it. They don’t break eye contact and Anti’s lips part when feeling something new. He smirks and the freckled man brushes his thumb there before lifting more the dress to take a proper look. Jack’s wearing a yellow, lace panties and the brown-haired man flushes just thinking about it. Anti groans, resting his face against the boy’s stomach.

 

“I can’t believe that I have you,” he growls, tightening his hold around Jack’s waist. “You’re _mine_.”

 

“I’m yours.”

 

The Irishman moves to sit on the man’s lap and Anti gives him space, both adjusting and sighing. The copper-haired man rests his hands on the boy’s thighs and Jack buries his fingers on his long curls, leaning into a kiss. They close their eyes and lightly peck their lips at first, brushing their mouths and breathing deep. It makes Jack’s heart swell and he chuckles when Anti whispers this was worth waiting. They tilt their heads, tongues sliding in, and they moan under their breath. It’s a familiar symphony that they don’t get tired of listening and Jack loves how well he fits in the man’s arms. The ginger-haired man goes down to bite his jaw and neck, making the boy arche his back and move his hips. Jack’s mouth falls open and he lets out a loud mewl when Anti licks his skin. His husband grunts and grabs the boy harsher by his thighs before getting up. Jack gasps and the man turns around so they can fall in bed. The brown-haired man holds Anti’s face by the chin when there’s a tug on his outfit and the artist scowls.

 

“Nah-ah, you are not ruining this dress. You paid for it and it wasn’t cheap, mister.”

 

“Oh, did I?” Anti murmurs, adding pressure on top of the boy, and his nails dig into his skin. “How so?”

 

“You don’t check your credit card that much,” Jack smirks.

 

“How scandalous of you, Mr. Ó Dubháin.”

 

To hear Anti calling him by his new last name is a surprise but also a joy. The freckled man mutters Jack will be begging to have this outfit ripped off him and the Irishman raises an eyebrow at that. His reply is muffled by Anti’s lips and he melts at the touch, toes curling. Their kisses make wet sounds in the room and Jack moans when they move. They rut against each other with long, slow thrusts and the boy’s cock twitches with want. He pants and slides his hands down to touch Anti’s ass cheeks, sinking his nails there and listening to the man growl. He’s sucking on the boy’s skin between grunts and bites, and Jack knows that his neck will be covered in hickeys in the morning. He has goosebumps when Anti keeps going down his body, brushing his mouth against the dress, and the boy rests his head onto the sheets. He spreads his legs, pulling his outfit, and there’s a warm breath on his inner thighs. The ginger-haired man ignores Jack’s erection on purpose, making him whine, and the Irishman can feel him chuckling. Anti just leaves heavy pants there, a shy tongue licking the head of his cock that leaves him wanting more.

 

The artist bites the hem of his panties before tugging it to the side. The Irishman pulls his legs up, feet planted on the bed, and he blushes deeply when Anti leans down to eat him out like that. Jack lets out a strained sound, hands clenching around bed sheets, and his whole body arches at the feeling. Anti hums, sucking him and holding the yellow panties in place. The boy knits his eyebrows in pleasure, gasping when the man’s split tongue slides in and out, and he curses under his breath. Jack’s cock throbs and he groans, thinking that maybe this was a bad idea. The lingerie is keeping his erection in place, against his skin, and it’s frustrating. He wants friction. God. The copper-haired man bobs his head, leaving half-moon marks into the boy’s skin. Anti licks his balls and Jack mewls, thrusting his hips up in the air.

 

“F-Fuck, I’m… I h-hate that you are s-so good at this… I f-fucking taught you that…” he mumbles, hazy eyes up at the canopy bed. The man slides a thumb inside his asshole, between his tongue, and Jack’s shudders. “Mmngh...”

 

Anti pecks his thigh, coming back up, and Jack groans. The man’s lips are wet and pink. Strands of hair fallen over his flushed face. He smirks, still teasing the boy and stretching him with his fingers. Jack hates and loves how he’s acting. Anti’s looking at him with dark eyes and there’s something looming over them. He wants to be in control more than ever right now and the Irishman feels that in the air. The artist’s touch leaves marks on his porcelain skin and he’s _confident._ When Anti removes his fingers, Jack scowls, but he’s turned around in bed to be on all fours. The Irishman’s heart beats like a drum and he bites his bottom lip when feeling his husband pushing the dress up to his back, fabric shuffling. A hand rests on his ass cheek and, when nothing happens, Jack looks over his shoulder to see his husband staring down. The man’s pursing his lips, those strands of hair tucked behind a ear, and all that confidence from before seems to have faded. The Irishman doesn’t like that at all. He calls his man and Anti moves some fingers on his lingerie, frowning. Unsure. Jack’s thoughts click and he huffs.

 

“Do it,” he breathes, arching his back to show more of his body. “I want you to do it.”

 

The freckled man meets his gaze and there’s a moment of silence before he straightens himself. Jack likes what he sees so he goes back to his position, supporting himself in bed. There’s a smacking sound in the air and he gasps, more of surprise than anything. It takes a moment but Anti slaps Jack again and the boy makes sure to moan this time, wanting to show that it’s alright. The artist grabs his hips and he starts whispering like he never did before. He’s being more vocal, saying how pretty Jack looks like that, and it drives him crazy. The Irishman half moans, half groans at that hand hitting his skin and he’s _so_ hard. He’s leaking precum but his panties are still on the way. The man ruts against Jack a couple of times, seeking pleasure himself, and the boy mewls. Anti’s cock brushes against him, smearing his thighs with precum as well, and he wants _more._ It’s getting warmer and warmer, clothes too tight around his body, and he’s breathing hard through his mouth. The brown-haired man sobs and everything’s overwhelming. Too much, in the most delicious way. His ass cheeks are pink and the slaps are loud in the room, it’s ridiculous. There’s a light tingling sensation whenever Anti hits him but there’s always a caress in between. It makes Jack’s heart swell.

 

“P-Please,” he moans, gripping the sheets. “T-Take it off! I w-want you!”

 

“Mm,” Anti murmurs, pushing the boy to stand up and his back rests against the man’s chest. Jack’s head swims with that movement, knees sinking in bed, and he whimpers. The freckled man slides his hands down between his legs, finally touching the boy’s cock over his lingerie. Jack sighs, head falling on Anti’s shoulder. “Really? But you look so pretty with this dress. It suits you so well…”

 

“G-Goddamnit, Abél.” The Irishman looks at the man through half-lidded eyes. “Take it off. Are you going to fuck your h-husband or will I have to do it myself?”

 

The freckled man growls and his hands fidget to find the fucking zipper from Jack’s outfit. The Irishman can only moan under his breath, trying not to fall, and the lace sleeves fall down his shoulders. Anti doesn’t ruin his dress but he’s not gentle either, both wanting to feel each other as fast as possible. The Irishman takes a deep breath when it falls to his knees, thankful to move freely, and he lies down in bed. Anti throws the dress from across the floor and he opens their nightstand drawer, taking a bottle of lubricant. Jack does gasp when the man tears his lingerie with his bare hands and the sound of that fabric being torn apart turns him on so much. God. He lets out a breathless laugh and Anti uncaps the bottle, jerking himself when spreading lubricant. Jack’s shaking and he shuts his eye when the artist penetrates him slowly. They moan and the Irishman relaxes, giving him time and letting them adjust. Fuck, it’s so good to feel him. His husband. Anti stretches Jack with his cock, burying deep inside him, and he’s so full. Warm. The brown-haired man is looking up at the ceiling but not quite focusing on anything, mouth hanging open, and his breathing is swallow.

 

It’s so intense this time, he can’t even move, and he’s sure that Anti can hear his heart beating. The freckled man lies on top of him and that motion makes Jack choke a moan, a tear falling from his sapphire eye. He sucks in air and Anti stares down at him, looking like a fucking mess. He’s panting, freckles standing out and pupils wide, and Jack raises weak arms in the air to brush his hair away. The artist leans down and their lips meet for a soft kiss, so different from their other touches. The Irishman sighs into his mouth and they just shut their eyes, breathing deep. It’s so quiet and they’re chest-to-chest, brushing their lips against one another. Anti whispers _mio amore_ at some point and Jack’s smile is so wide, it hurts his cheeks. When the freckled man thrusts forward, they moan together, and they find their pace again. Their kisses turn harsher, sloppy, and Jack scratches his lover’s back at every move. Anti pants against his cheek and their skin slap, bed shuffling at how fast they’re going. The boy wails, throwing his head back, and his legs lock around his husband’s waist. They swear and moan loudly in the night, hot puffs of air against their faces. Jack’s erection is pulsing, head red and swollen, and the warmth below his navel is maddening.

 

“A-Ah, god! Fuck!” Jack shouts. “H-Harder! I’m c-close… I’m...”

 

Anti buries his face in the crook of the boy’s neck, grunting. He quickens his pace, fucking him, and Jack cups the back of his head. His toes curls, back arching, and his vision is blurred. The Irishman’s throat hurts from screaming so much, breathing too hard. Chest sore. Anti whimpers into his ear and his thrusts are long, deep. Jack cums with a cry, shuddering violently, and there are hot white strings hitting their stomachs. He closes his eyes so hard, he sees multiple-colorful dots, and he groans. Anti gasps when the boy clenches his asshole and he cums soon after, filling him up. Jack feels warm and the freckled man spasms on top of him with broken moans. The Irishman hugs him tight, body finally relaxing, and his heart is beating a mile a minute. They’re panting hard and their hips jerk a couple of times, still riding their orgasms. Jack buries his fingers on the man’s locks, caressing him, and his legs fall in bed. Their bodies go slack and Anti moves up and down with his breathing, both not moving.

 

It takes a minute but the freckled man bumps his nose on Jack’s cheek, slowly turning his face to look at the boy. There are tears on their eyelashes and the Irishman huffs a weak smile, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Anti sighs and it’s odd that Jack wants to be even closer to him, even though it’s impossible. He swallows, catching his breath, and he chuckles when the man just keeps staring with a dumb expression. Jack’s eyes turn into half-moons, shoulders shaking underneath him.

 

“You look so drunk right now.”

 

“Did I hurt you?” Anti whispers, ignoring the boy’s comment. “Are you alright?”

 

“No, you didn’t hurt me.” The brown-haired man cups his face, brushing his knuckles on the man’s cheeks, and Anti hums. Jack’s heart flutters and his ring shines even in the dim room. “You’re wonderful, Abél… Ti amo.”

 

The artist shakes his head, knitting his eyebrows, and he leans closer for a chaste kiss. The next time he speaks, his sweet, rough lips brush against Jack’s. His voice is so low, the boy feels it all over his body, and it brings him so much peace. Warmth.

 

“I love you too, Seán.“

 

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

Jack wakes up with hickeys on his neck and marks all over his body.

 

He stretches in the morning and bats Anti’s hands away from him with a chuckle, wanting them not to be late for today. They take a shower to wake them up and he gets dressed in a light, blue shirt with shorts for this sunny weather. Anti puts on a white, long sleeved shirt and black, cotton pants. The Irishman makes them a strong breakfast and they eat between soft touches, thumbs brushing against their skin. They want to get everything ready so they can pick up his daughter. Anti’s beach house is a good six to seven hours away from where they live and Jack doesn’t want them to arrive too late, when night falls. They pack their bags and the ginger-haired man places them in the back of his BMW. Half of these bags belong to Róisín, though. Jack wants to make sure she’ll have everything she might need during this trip and the freckled man makes no complains about it. They check if there’s something missing but everything seems to be in order. The brown-haired man texts Robin that they’re going to stop by his place and he puts on his sunglasses while grinning at Anti.

 

“How do I look? I look good, don’t I?” he says, resting his back against the car and lifting his chin. “I’m ready for our honeymoon, baby!”

 

The artist rolls his eyes but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. He murmurs something about Jack always looking good and the boy puts a hand over his chest, letting out a long  _ Aw. _ He calls for his husband and Anti walks up to him, leaning down for a kiss. The Irishman cups his face and sucks on his bottom lip before pulling back. They get inside the car and it’s the first time he sees Anti in front of a steering wheel, turning on the ignition. He mutters something about being a while since he last drove and Jack tells him not to rush himself. It takes a bit more than an hour for them to arrive at Robin’s house and the boy approves his husband’s driving by the time they get there. Anti snorts, parking in front of that small garden and honking twice. Jack steps out of the vehicle and they see Andreas opening the door, Róisín in his arms. Robin follows behind him and they all greet each other. The brown-haired man meets his brother-in-law half way and his baby smiles wide at him.

 

“Hey, peanut! Daddy’s here!” Jack calls her and she giggles. Andreas gives her to him and she holds onto him. The Irishman kisses her cheek and Robin stops by the man’s side, arm around his waist. “Thank you so much for taking care of her, guys. I hope she didn’t give you any trouble.”

 

Robin snorts. “Andreas was trying to make her say his name over and over. If anything, I hope he didn’t give  _ her _ any trouble.”

 

“Hey!” the younger man speaks, defending himself. “I got a lot of  _ A’s _ from her, okay? We made progress.”

 

Jack hums, amused, and Robin raises an eyebrow while whispering that the boy had fun last night. The Irishman flushes, pulling the collar of his shirt up to his neck, and Anti honks to call their attention. They all turn to see him leaning against the car and he waves with car keys in hand. Andreas flips him the bird and Anti sticks his split tongue out from afar. Robin rolls his eyes and Jack sends him a knowing smile. They can stay too long, though, so he thanks them again before excusing himself. Robin gives him Róisín’s bag and the Irishman tells his baby to wave them goodbye. They all wave, looking at her, and she raises her hand in the air to do the same with a light frown. Jack laughs, watching her small hand go left and right, and they walk back to the car. Anti helps him place her bag inside and set her car seat, with a mirror so they can watch the baby from the front. Once Róisín is safe and sound, the ginger-haired man starts driving again and Jack puts on some music. They have a long way ahead but the boy’s excited to be doing this with his husband and daughter.

 

They make sure to stop every now and then, not wanting Róisín to feel car-sick and check on her. The more they keep going on, the less buildings there are. The first hours consist in Jack singing Disney songs, nothing too loud so it won’t upset his baby, and Anti grumbles about cars in front of them. They lunch on a diner, and Jack feeds and changes his child. He drives for a while too, so Anti won’t feel too exhausted and his hands sore. The freckled man stays in the back seat for a bit, distracting Róisín, and the boy likes hearing him talk to her. She falls asleep after four hours and his husband is back at his side, curled up on his seat and looking ahead. It’s nothing like the city by now and it’s rather calming, just a long road with fields around them. Jack’s blue eyes glances at his ring in time to time, still getting used to it, and there are butterflies in his stomach every time he thinks of Anti as his husband. The artist plays with his, twisting it around his finger, and Jack feels his gaze on him.

 

The copper-haired man brushes his knuckles on the Irishman’s arm, moving up to his shoulder and jaw. Jack bites his inner cheeks, holding back a smile, and he said that he’s driving. Anti hums, tugging on the boy’s beard and caressing his hair for a moment. The Irishman takes his hand and kisses it, focusing on the road, and the man lets him be. He’s still staring at Jack through half-lidded eyes and the Irishman looks at him funny.

 

“What is going on with you, mister?” he asks. “Is there something on my face?”

 

It takes a second for Anti to answer and his voice is low, both whispering not to wake up the baby. He shakes his head. “I’m just thinking of how lucky I am.”

 

“I’m sorry, I think I want my cranky husband now. Could you bring him back? I don’t know how to deal with this one. Too cheesy.”

 

There’s a grunt and Jack chuckles, glancing at him to see that light frown with a smile. Alright, there he is. It makes the boy’s heart swell, though, knowing that Anti is thinking about these things. He’s so mellow inside, it’s endearing. Jack likes it a lot. They keep driving and they change places one more time, talking between whispers. The brown-haired man perks up when there’s just a small town to his right and he opens the window, only to hear ocean waves from afar. The sun is close to setting and Anti finally says that they’ve arrived. Jack just sticks his head out to feel the breeze and the ginger-haired man tells him to be careful, but the boy can’t help himself. The fresh air fills his lungs and he’s already  _ so _ happy. There’s a small house coming into view, painted of light blue and white, and there’s sand underneath it. Anti really wasn’t kidding when he said it was near the beach. There’s a lance of wooden stairs that lead to the front door and it looks so delicate, so different from that mansion. Jack loves seeing the grass on sand, moving with the wind, and he likes how it feels far away from everything. Isolated.

 

Anti is careful when they have to park next to it, on the sand, and Jack can’t wait to stretch his legs. They step out of the car and the Irishman is blown away by the sight next to this house. The ocean looks stunning under the setting sun and the  _ waves. _ God, what a beautiful sound. Jack pushes his sunglasses up to see better and the freckled man goes to pick up Róisín in her car seat. They stand there for a moment, just taking it all in, and the boy can’t take off that smile from his face. They take some of their bags first and slowly make their way to the place, walking up the stairs to the sound of the sea. Anti gives him a key to open the house and, when they enter it, Jack’s in awe by it. The soft colors inside are pleasant to see, carrying a beautiful harmony, and he loves how rustic it is. There’s plenty of space in the living room and it has an open kitchen on the other end. The artist places Róisín gently next to the couch, so they can bring everything inside and check the rooms. They’re clearly tired, working mostly in silence, but there’s no tension in the air.

 

There’s a hallway that leads to their bedroom and it has a beautiful wooden frame against their king size bed. There are so many pillows that Jack straights up jumps on top of them with a giggle. He sighs, spread in bed, and he closes his eyes. This mattress is divine and he doesn’t want to leave there anymore, especially after such a long trip. There’s a nudge on his thigh and he looks up to see Anti staring back, hair tied up in a bun.

 

“I want to show you something.”

 

“Why do I feel like I heard that before?” Jack mutters, narrowing his eyes.

 

He gets up, following his husband, and Anti takes his hand while they walk in the hallway. The man opens a second door and Jack’s eyes widen, heart skipping a beat. There’s a white crib in the middle of the room, with a thin veil hanging on top of it. He sees a large chest, filled with toys, a soft rug and a proper dressing area for a baby. There are stars painted on the ceiling and everything has a pastel tone, serene. Jack tears up, swallowing hard, and he walks inside to take a proper look. Anti just keeps looking at him, so calm, and he rests his head against the doorframe. The copper-haired man murmurs he asked to change this room for Róisín. He wanted her to be comfortable during their time there, so Jack wouldn’t have to worry too much about where she would stay. The Irishman places a hand on the crib, back turned to the man, and his face scrunches up in emotion. Róisín never had a proper room. Not something that was actually made for her. He hears footsteps and there are arms wrapping around his waist. Anti rests his chin on the boy’s shoulder, hugging him from behind.

 

“This is beautiful,” he half sobs, half laughs. “Abél… I can’t believe that you did this. You keep doing these t-things and I… You keep surprising me…”

 

“Is that a good thing?” Anti hums.

 

The Irishman turns around to look at him and he caresses his husband’s cheek. His lips part, a thought wanting to leave his lips, and it wouldn’t be the first time that it had crossed his mind. “You know that she sees you as a dad, right?” The freckled man knits his eyebrows at the boy’s words, as if not believing on what he’s hearing. He shakes his head but Jack presses a thumb over his lips, not letting him argue about this. “You’re my husband… You are her family too and I hope you know that...”

 

Anti lets out a small whimper and he bumps his nose against Jack’s cheek. The Irishman rests his face in the crook of the man’s neck and they embrace each other. He can’t wait to show his baby her room during this week, she’ll love it. There’s enough space for her to play as well and Jack couldn’t wish for anything else in this whole world. They know that this honeymoon will be different, having a baby with them and all, but it feels perfect. He knows that Anti loves that kid and he’s always so calm around her. They hear Róisín waking up from her nap, a loud shriek, and Anti tightens their hold before letting go. He kisses the Irishman’s forehead before they leave the bedroom and Jack watches him go towards his daughter in the living room. The boy fidgets with his necklace, a tired smile kissing his lips, and Anti carries her in his arms.

 

“There’s my piccola,” he talks to her. “Do you want to see your room? Your dad approved, so I think you will too.”

 

Róisín adores it, of course. Anti puts her on the ground and lets her walk towards that chest with toys, making sure he’s there to catch her if she falls. She flops down on the floor in front of her new stuff and she yelps, pointing at them. Jack goes to them, both sitting next to his baby, and Anti gives her a small piano. The Irishman whispers there will be a lot of noises in the future then and her eyes widen at the sounds when pressing the keyboards. She giggles, her cute little teeth showing, and Jack caresses her hair. He can’t believe that she’ll complete a year next month. One fucking year. Anti murmurs she deserves more gifts and Jack snorts, saying he’s spoiling her. The freckled man hums and they watch her stand up, supporting herself on the chest. She babbles and the man has to stop her from going too far with a chuckle, placing her on his lap. Róisín reminds Jack of when he was younger. Him, with his sister. Always hyperactive, wanting to do something and run around. She’s gonna be just like that. Their little explorer.

 

They spend the rest of the day just organizing their stuff, folding some clothes in their temporary closet, and they give Róisín a bath before feeding her once more. She’s been liking her purées alright but apple juice seems to be her favorite so far. They brought some food for themselves and they’ll have to go out in the next day for groceries shopping. There’s nothing in this kitchen, not used for a long time, so Jack’s making plans already. He wishes to go to the sea and walk on sand, but today’s events are getting the best of him. The Irishman jokes under his breath this is the living proof that he’s a father, feeling tired as soon as night falls, and Anti snorts. They agree to go out early in the morning so they can still have time to stay by the beach. Jack doesn’t want Róisín to be there on the hottest part of the day. Once that’s said, they take a shower to finally relax and they put the baby to sleep before falling on their bed. Anti has a hand over his stomach, shirtless, and Jack can see the sea from their window. He points that out, about to nudge the man, but then there’s a light snore in the air. The Irishman turns his face to see his husband breathing deep, mouth ajar, and he huffs.

 

Jack sets an alarm for tomorrow and he pulls the thin covers up, adjusting himself in bed, He rests his face against Anti’s shoulder, placing a hand over the man’s, and he takes a deep breath before falling asleep.

 

And when he stirs himself awake, it’s the sea that calls in the morning. It’s so soothing to wake up and hear those waves, seagulls in the distant. It’s heaven-like. He wakes up a few minutes before the alarm so he turns it off, just stretching in bed with a long hum. He blinks at the ceiling and there’s the sound of sheets shuffling. Anti turns around to lie on his stomach, groaning under his breath but looking at the boy with sleepy eyes. Jack gazes at him, both liking this quiet, and the freckled man doesn’t cover his burned side with strands of hair. The Irishman caresses his marred cheek, patting him there as if coaxing him to get up, and Anti makes a face. He hugs his pillow more but Jack calls him out, sitting up in bed to start the day. It’s the Irishman who gets ready first, showering and dressing up in light clothes, and the artist lingers in bed. He groans every time Jack nudges him and only gets up when the boy says he won’t be with Róisín like that.

 

They go out to buy groceries and Róisín stays with them. Anti drives them to that near town and he helps the boy to set her stroller before walking into a small market. There are few people around, so early in the day, and they like how that is. Jack made a list of what they need but Anti is already going to the fruit stand, picking up all the peaches that he can in his hands. The brown-haired man shakes his head with a smile and lets him be, putting some bread and milk in the cart. The artist is the one pushing Róisín and it just hits the boy that this is the first time they do groceries together. It was always Jack who would go out alone, or Ethan and Tucker were always the one taking care of that. It’s a sweet moment to remember. The copper-haired man adds some  _ Skittles  _ in the cart and the Irishman glares at him from the side, watching him go away as if nothing is wrong. Right. A sweet moment.

 

When they’re back at the house, Anti offers to put everything away while Jack gets Róisín ready. The Irishman really wants to be careful about his baby so he applies sunscreen on her and he dresser her in a long-sleeved, floral shirt. Róisín’s clothes are light, thin for the weather, but he still doesn’t want her to be vulnerable to the sun. It’s a two piece outfit, with pink ruffle bottoms. There’s a wide brimmed hat for her and comfortable shoes, so she won’t have to put her little feet on hot sand. Jack prepares her bag and there are so many towels, extra clothes and some toys for her. There’s a cool bag with water and food, just in case, and Anti will get them a parasol outside. The brown-haired man changes to his swimming trunks, of a dark blue color with grey lines on the side, and a simple white tank-top. He waits for his husband in the living room, browsing on his cell phone, and Róisín is on his lap. The floor creaks and he looks up to see Anti wearing shorts but still with that long-sleeved, black t-shirt.

 

“Where’s your swimsuit?” Jack asks and the man purses his lips.

 

“I put it on, I’ll take this off once we’re there.”

 

The freckled man shuffles on his feet and he’s scowling to himself. Jack doesn’t press the matter and he helps the boy to carry their things outside. It’s a beautiful sunny day and the Irishman points at the beach for Róisín. It’s her first time seeing the ocean and he wants to take pictures. Anti follows behind, walking down the stairs, and there’s no one nearby. They feel the sand under their feet and the brown-haired man finds a good spot for them, not too close from the sea and not too far from their place. Anti sinks the parasol in place and Jack sets their picnic towel so they can sit down. They place their bag on its end, so the breeze won’t blow it away, and Róisín is safe under the shade. She’s already squirming, wanting to move, but he holds her for a moment. Jack takes off his tan-top and the copper-haired man applies sunscreen on the boy’s face. He steals a kiss, giggling when he leaves a bit of cream on Anti’s nose. His husband huffs but continues, touching the Irishman’s chest and back. Róisín coos, making a funny face, and they laugh at how cute she is.

 

Jack also applies sunscreen on Anti, whispering for him to be careful, not wanting to upset his skin. They let Róisín touch the sand for the first time and she’s being so vocal, looking back at them as if wanting to show this new thing. She stands up and Jack has his hands around her waist, so she won’t go too far. He stops her from putting her hand in her mouth, saying it’s not good, and the artist snaps a couple of pictures. It’s so good to be sharing this with Anti but he wishes the man was more comfortable. Jack’s sure that he’s being self-conscious over his marks but there’s nothing to be afraid about. Not anymore. This is a moment for all of them to relax and just enjoy. The ginger-haired man pulls his legs up, hiding under the shade, and he looks like a fucking grumpy teenager. Even Róisín is more excited than him, exploring what she can within reach. Jack sighs, looking at him.

 

“There’s no one here,” he says. “You know what I think of you.”

 

Anti grunts, frowning harder, and strands of hair move with the wind. He seems to be deep in thought and he glances at Jack, expression softening. The boy pretends to be devastated, pouting and giving him puppy eyes, but he celebrates when the artist finally takes off his shirt and shorts. The Irishman’s eyes fall down to his arms and hips. God, he’s wearing a black, swim briefs and that’s really hot. He likes the man’s muscles and tattoos, and he leans closer for a kiss. Anti is not shy about that, tasting his lover, and Jack smiles. It gets better when they take Róisín near the sea, letting her feel the water brushing against her tiny feet. They’re in the shallow and she shrieks with laughter at every small wave. She stomps on wet sand and coos again at the sea. They all sit down and Jack’s heart clenches when listening her laughter. She splashes the water, babbling, and Anti takes the camera to record. He does his best to keep his hands still and the Irishman tries catching her attention.

 

“Look at the camera, peanut,” he talks and she’s having the time of her life. He snickers, trying to keep her still. God, she’s going to be a mischievous one. The freckled man calls for her softly, the only calm one in this situation, and Jack can’t stop chuckling. He doesn’t even think twice, pointing at Anti, and the words fall off his lips. “Look at daddy, sweetheart! Yeah, Look at him! Let’s wave!” It comes out naturally but his smile falters, worried for a split second. His heart skips a beat and they exchange a look. The artist’s mismatched green eyes turn into half-moons and he waves at Róisín. Jack’s fear disappears as soon as it came. “There you go, peanut... Wave at daddy.”

 

“Da-” Róisín shouts and they look down at her. “Dadda!”

 

Oh, fuck. Jack’s hit with a strong emotion, tearing up, and he’s so proud of his daughter. Anti puts the cell phone down to stare at her and he seems to be feeling exactly the same. The Irishman lets out a breathless laugh when Róisín tries again,  _ Dadee  _ falling from her lips, and Anti picks her up. He kisses her cheek and pretends to eat her tummy, and Jack’s heart swells from happiness. There’s so much love pouring from his soul, that it aches. Megan crosses his mind and he wipes a tear that has escaped, throat closing. Anti takes his hand, bringing him back to reality, and Jack kisses him over and over. He asks if the man caught that on camera, otherwise he’ll throw a tantrum, but Anti assures him that he did. Róisín doesn’t even spare them a second glance, too excited about the sea and enjoying herself. She really has no idea what she does to them. Jack fixes her sun hat and they smile at their baby.

 

Anti plays with Róisín and they spend a lovely morning by the beach. There are a couple of people that they see from afar but it’s still private, quiet. The ginger-haired man relaxes a bit more, all of them under the shade, and he eats a sandwich that the boy packed. Róisín falls asleep on Jack’s arms and he’s slightly rocking, back and forth. The breeze wraps around them like a blanket and it brings a sense of tranquility. The Irishman could fall asleep right there and then, lulled by the sea, but Anti whispers that they should be going soon. He nods, knowing they don’t want Róisín to be exposed for too long, but he wants to come back there. The freckled man huffs, murmuring something about them having enough time in their honeymoon. It’s so funny to hear him say that. Honeymoon.

 

They eventually gather their stuff and they slowly make their way back to the beach house. Jack has to wake up Róisín for a bath but she’s too tired to complain. Anti organizes their bags back in place while the boy dries her with a towel. It’s lovely to have a room just for his baby and he puts her in the crib, making sure that the baby monitors are on. The Irishman takes a shower and, when he steps out the bathroom, he see Anti crashed in their bed. It’s not a surprise that the man’s fast asleep and Jack won’t deny himself a nap too. There’s no rush about anything and they can do whatever they want. The artist is not going to work during this whole week and he won’t answer any calls. It’s good to take a break sometimes and Jack hopes the man feels more inspired as time passes. The brown-haired man sighs in bed, getting comfortable, but he can’t help but think of something for tonight. Anti pointed out the obvious by saying it’s their honeymoon and Jack wants him not to worry about anything.

 

It is with that thought in mind that Jack falls asleep and he only wakes up when it’s late afternoon. He didn’t think he’d sleep that much but sunbathing always made him drowsy afterwards. Anti is still snoring, copper hair covering his face, so Jack quietly leaves the bed and checks on Róisín. She rolls on her tummy when seeing his father and he picks her up with a smile. He walks them to the living room and his daughter plays quietly on the soft rug, bunny on her side. The Irishman wants to prepare them a nice dinner and puts a bottle of red wine in the freezer. It’s a grunt in the air that makes him turn around in the open kitchen, seeing Anti scowling and rubbing an eye. Jack sends him a look of sympathy and his husband drags his feet, walking towards him. The artist plants a kiss on the boy’s temple, sighing and hugging him, and he looks down at the pan.

 

“What are you doing…?” he asks, voice hoarse from just waking up.

 

“We’re having shrimp risotto tonight. I thought it would be nice for us to eat on the porch, staring at the sea.”

 

“Mm, romantic.”

 

Anti mumbles against his skin and Jack chuckles, letting the man rest his face in the crook of his neck. He tells the freckled man to wash his face and that dinner will be ready in a moment. There’s a round wooden table outside, with a couple hammocks hanging on the porch, and he sets everything up. Jack puts their plates and wine glasses, cutlery and napkins. Anti comes back with his hair loose, brushed, and his green eyes find the boy easily. He murmurs that the Irishman will never fail to amaze him and he helps bringing their food. They sit down and his husband opens the bottle of wine, pouring it in their glasses. The night has started to fall, the first start in the sky, and they sip from their drinks. Anti loves the food and they can see Róisín in her baby swing, safe and sound. She’s holding a chewing toy but it looks like she’ll fall asleep any second now. The copper-haired man blinks at the boy, long eyelashes batting against freckled skin, and Jack sighs.

 

“You have that look on your face again,” he mutters and Anti pretends that he doesn’t get it. “Like I’m going to disappear.”

 

“Sometimes it feels like that and I don’t know why.”

 

The ocean sings for them in the night and Jack takes a deep breath, looking at their empty plates. He twists his ring on his finger and purses his lips. “I’m not going anywhere… I’m right here.”

 

The artist knits his eyebrows and he touches that marred side of his, fingers brushing against that hair flaw and scar. He notices his trembling hand and places it under the table. The boy sighs. “I’ll always doubt myself,” Anti says. “We know it won’t be easy sometimes and I guess that makes me scared. I’m scared of fucking it up and I don’t want to lose this, even though I don’t deserve it. I really don’t.”

 

“Abél,” Jack interrupts and he puts his hand over the table, asking for the man’s. Anti clenches his jaw but their fingers entwine, and the Irishman doesn’t let go. “We’ve talked about this but I’ll never get tired of saying that I love you. As long as we have each other, we can do anything. It’s going to be fine.”

 

The ginger-haired man caresses his hand and they exchange a look. He nods once and Jack glances at the beach, having an idea to lighten the mood. He smirks and Anti narrows his mismatched eyes at him. The Irishman gets up and strips off his shirt, watching the man scowl harder. He walks towards the stairs, pushing down his shorts, and the freckled man stands up to follow him. Jack giggles, getting naked in the middle of the night, and he runs down the stairs. The cold air hits his skin and it feels wonderful, feet sinking into sand.

 

“Seán, what the fuck are you doing?” Anti asks from above, leaning against the bannister.

 

“Skinny dipping, baby!” Jack shouts, throwing his arms in the air. “C’mon, you coward! It’s just us!”

 

The ginger-haired man looks horrified for a second, mouth fallen open, but he rolls his eyes. The Irishman runs butt-naked on the beach and the moonlight bathes him from above. His heart beats faster when seeing Anti undressing from afar and he spins around, feeling free. The artist comes down slower than the boy, looking left and right, but there’s no one nearby. He looks stunning, tattoos and marks exposed. Jack wants him to let go. To stop worrying about little details. His appearance, his temper. The Irishman runs a hand through his brown hair and grins at the man, yelling that he can’t catch him. Anti perks up at that and he finally runs after the boy, raising sand in the air. Jack laughs without a care, trying to avoid his husband, and he splashes water on the man. The artist grabs him nonetheless and the brown-haired man snickers. He rests his chest against Anti’s and he throws his arms over the man’s shoulders, both catching their breaths.

 

“Love me,” Jack whispers, lips brushing against his husband’s lips. They both shut their eyes, just feeling. “Love me and I’ll always be with you.”

 

Anti’s answer is a kiss and they breathe into their mouths, tilting their heads. Jack buries his fingers on the man’s ginger locks and the ocean waves brush against their feet. The freckled man hugs him tight, skin to skin, and Jack loves his rough touch. His imperfections. The Irishman sucks on his bottom lip, sighing, and Anti’s split tongue dances in his mouth. His heart flutters and their rings shine under the moonlight, screaming at the world that they belong to each other. They mumble between kisses about their love and Jack never thought it would be like this. Never. And yet, he would do it all again, if it meant he’d have this man in his arms. His daughter is happy, growing healthy, and they’re surrounded by friends. Jack’s grief will always be there, somewhere in his heart, but he’ll use it as strength. Anti’s hold is a sweet reminder that they can keep going together.

 

And it’s wonderful.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! This one is a longer chapter, I guess I had a lot to say, and I hope you guys liked it! The last one will be an epilogue and I'll post it on Thursday, instead of Wednesday alright? I'm still writing it and I thought it would be better to give just a little more time! See yall soon! ;u;


	30. Chapter 30

EPILOGUE

TWO YEARS LATER

 

He’s at a hospital, sitting on a rather cold chair, in a cold room. There are low murmurs in the hallway and he stares at the white floor with tired eyes. He holds back a long sigh and that generic scent from the hospital brings back old memories. The brown-haired man bites his his bottom lip, foot tapping on the floor out of anxiety, and he rubs his hands on his thighs. Jack fidgets with the ring around his finger, that white gold shining under that artificial light, and that rose necklace feels heavy around his neck. It’s hard to swallow, throat dry, and he hates how panicked he feels. Jack runs a hand through his brown hair, cupping his cheeks, and there’s no one around him. He groans, covering his eyes, and a different sound makes him look up. The Irishman sighs in relief, seeing his husband walking in, and he stands up. Anti’s hair is tied up in a low ponytail, falling down to his back, and he’s wearing a white, turtleneck shirt. He raises his arms and Jack meets him halfway in a hug, pressing his cheek against the man’s chest. Anti kisses the top of his head and they tighten their hold.

 

“Forgive me for being late, I was stuck in that meeting,” the ginger-haired man murmurs and Jack shakes his head.

 

“It’s okay, I know. We weren’t expecting this so soon…”

 

“Is she okay? Are you?”

 

The Irishman nods and he’s grateful that his husband came as fast as he could. He was half across the city, negotiating a contract with an author to illustrate their books. Anti wasn’t going to come back until tonight but all their plans changed in this afternoon. Jack whispers this has been going on for hours and hours, and he’s been awake since three in the morning. The freckled man sighs, pecking his lips for a moment, and apologizes again for leaving him alone. Jack just keeps hugging him, seeking comfort in his hold, and his heart aches. Anti caresses his hair, calming him down, and he says that everything will be alright. They sit down and they entwine their fingers, breathing deep. God, this is so stressful. Jack bites his bottom lip, jiggling his leg, and Anti asks if he ate. The Irishman makes a face and the artist purses his lips, already getting up to find something. Jack clings for a second, not wanting to be alone, but he lets go of the man’s shirt. Anti is so calm. He’s always so calm in the craziest moments and the boy truly admires that. The man comes back with a cup of coffee and a sandwich from the cafeteria, and Jack kisses his marred cheek as a thank you.

 

Time in hospitals are a mystery for the boy, hating how everything feels so slow and endless, and the hours drag. Jack tries dozing off on his husband’s shoulder, hoping to catch a few minutes of rest, but he keeps jolting himself awake. Anti clenches his hands every now and then, his own anxiety breaking his posture. They do their best to support one another and the copper-haired man texts his brother, updating him of the situation. Nurses come and go, and Jack drags a hand over his face. Anti fidgets with his own bracelet and it’s only when night falls that they hear something new. There’s a cry in the air, muffled from the walls, but there nonetheless. Anti perks up at that and the Irishman sits up straight, both exchanging a look with tired eyes. The cry slowly fades and Jack’s heart beats like a drum when it still takes some time for someone to show up. A nurse walks in the hallway and they get up, holding hands. She greets them with a smile and the boy tears up when listening to her words.

 

“It’s a baby girl!”

 

He bursts a chuckle, tears escaping his eyes already. A girl. They have another precious baby girl, waiting for them. They’ve been thinking about this for such a long time, ever since Anti asked if he would like to see Róisín with a little brother or sister. They thought of adopting first but it was Robin that suggested surrogacy. They had to pass through so many paperwork, so much policy and arrangement, it gave them a headache. Finding someone they truly liked to carry their child. Valentina, their surrogate, came in their life and they immediately felt a connection with her. She’s a wonderful italian woman and they had amazing conversations throughout these nine months. Anti and Jack have been supporting her, being there with her during the whole process, making sure that she was alright. It’s been such a long journey and now, they’re going to meet their second kid. It’s even more exciting that Anti is her biological father. Fuck. The man swallows hard and he asks if they can see her. They wait and every minute takes an eternity for them. Jack’s almost crushing his husband’s hand when they go to the nursery, eyes searching everywhere.

 

It’s a blur when walking in to see their kid but it’s Anti’s whimper that brings him back to reality. They both approach a hospital crib, leaning down to see a small baby wrapped around a soft blanket. Jack remembers Róisín’s birth, being there with his sister, and this brings so many memories. His heart is full and his face scrunches up in emotion, looking down at that cute little thing. She has faint, light hair and rosy cheeks. It hits them that they have a ginger-haired girl just like her father and Anti asks the nurse if he can hold her. They’ve both taken flu shots and other precautions, wanting to protect their newborn as much as they can. The freckled man careful picks her up, cupping her face, and she squirms a little. Anti holds her _so_ tender like and, when the man looks up at Jack, he has tears in his eyes. They’re both a mess and the Irishman is so goddamn happy to have another member in their family. Anti smiles and sniffs, saying she’s beautiful. Jack holds her as well and whispers that she has a sister waiting at home. The nurse asks the newborn’s name and there’s pride in the artist’s voice.

 

“Her name is Abela.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s the beginning of July and Jack’s in the garden, taking care of roses. They’re blooming beautifully and his gloved hands are covered in dirt. He gets rid of dead leaves and brushes the back of his hand on his forehead, feeling that weight of working in the morning. It’s a sign that the Irishman should stop and grab something to drink, but he’s really content with the progress he made today. Jack stands up, taking his garden supplies with him, and he puts everything back in the shed. He removes the yellow gloves with a huff and walks back inside the mansion, passing by the library. There’s a neat white door with a golden doorknob instead of a burned one this time, and Jack knocks before opening it. He walks on stairs that don’t creak and the bannister is smooth against his hand. The Irishman lets a name fall from his lips but there’s no answer. He hums, finally reaching the room and seeing that there’s no one there.

 

Jack runs a hand through his brown hair, taking a look of the workshop nonetheless, and he feels proud of what they did. Everything is brand new and just so clear. White and gold. Jack and Anti replaced all the wooden floor themselves, both wanting to renovate the room with their own hands. It was weeks of hard work, painting the walls and installing new bright light, but it was totally worth it. The Irishman’s blue eyes find that painting of the brothers hanging on a corner, though. Anti as a kid, hugging his brother, face burned. They decided to keep it as a sign of accomplishment and not remorse. There are so many canvas in the room, drawings of him and portraits of their daughters. Some landscapes that reminds him of their honeymoon. He taps his fingers on the bannister and, when there’s a sound in the air, he looks up at the ceiling. A smile kisses his face, recognizing that melody, and he goes back to the lobby in slow steps. The song bathes the house, wrapping the silence like a blanket.

 

The brown-haired man enters their kitchen, removing his ring for a second so he can wash his hands before making iced tea. He puts two glasses on a silver tray, one sippy cup and a bottle. There are a couple of drawings on the fridge door, colorful scribbles, and photographs of him with Anti. He takes some ice for the tea and apple juice to pour in the sippy cup, humming under his breath. He prepares a formula to put in the bottle and he makes sure it’s not too hot. Once everything is done, Jack walks out with the tray and goes upstairs, that big painting with the younger brothers looming over him. He turns right, in a familiar hallway, and he balances the silver tray to open the door he wants. The melody is more present there and he smiles at the sight before him, placing the tray over a side table. Anti is playing at the piano, long hair loose, wearing a black shirt and sweatpants. He’s murmuring something and Jack sees Róisín sitting on his husband’s lap, dressed in a yellow dress. Her brown hair is curled down to her chin and she’s pressing some piano keys without a care. They both look up at the Irishman when he walks closer and her face light ups.

 

“Are you seriously trying to teach our daughter Wolfgang?” Jack laughs.

 

“Mm, she likes it. Don’t you, piccola?” Anti asks her. “Your sister likes it too, right?”

 

Róisín nods, smiling up at him, and they all look to the side to see a new baby swing. Abela is tucked in, fast asleep, and she’s only one week old. They were both worried that Róisín would feel jealous, seeing them holding a new baby for the first time. The brown-haired girl acted a bit suspicious in the beginning but it passed as soon as it came. She’s always on Abela’s side now and trying to make her smile. Anti keeps saying they’re reminding him of his time with Andreas and that warms Jack’s heart. He says he brought them drinks and Róisín makes a motion with her hands, calling her dad, and the Irishman picks her up with a huff. She moves her legs excitedly and accepts her apple juice. Anti stands up, kissing the boy on his way to grab the tea, and he asks about the flowers. The copper-haired man has been taking care of the kids in the morning so Jack can have some time for himself. They’re both finding a new pace and, although it is tiring, it’s been easier.

 

They know what to do now.

 

When Jack asks what Anti wants for his birthday tomorrow, the man mumbles he already have everything right there. The Irishman snorts, playfully shoving his shoulder, and Abela calls their attention with a small whimper. She squirms in her light blue onesie, waking up, and Anti goes to her. Róisín’s blue eyes focus on them and Jack pecks her cheek, asking if she wants to help feeding her sister. The brown-haired girl nods, clinging onto his father, and they all go downstairs. Anti shushes Abela, always the one to calm these kids down, and they all gather in the living room with their drinks. Róisín sits on the couch and Anti whispers for her to be gentle, letting their daughter hold Abela. They both teach her to keep the bottle slightly tilted and Róisín feeds Abela with their help, Anti cupping the baby’s head. Jack snaps a picture of their children and he’s really proud of them. Róisín is going to be three years old in a couple of weeks and he can’t believe how fast she’s growing.

 

Anti shares a small story that, when he was born, he didn’t cry at all. Everyone was so worried, thinking something was wrong, but he was just silent. Gave his mother a fright. Jack smiles, liking to hear his husband, and Anti says that Abela reminds him of that. She’s more quiet, haven’t been crying as much as Róisín did. It’s funny to see their differences, ever since babies. Once their newborn finishes, it’s Jack that picks her up tp help her burp. Róisín babbles something about drawing and Anti sits on the floor with her, grabbing her crayons and paper to draw at the coffee table. The Irishman rests his back against the couch, pulling his legs up to get comfortable with Abela, and he watches them with a lazy grin on his face. Anti encourages Róisín to draw random scribbles, doing something on a paper as well, and it’s just so _good._ The brown-haired girl picks up a red crayon and she frowns in concentration, her little hand moving over the paper. The freckled man hums to himself, showing his doodle of a rose to the kid, and he says it’s her.

 

“Papà,” she mumbles, and Jack never gets tired of how cute her voice is. It’s low and soft, a bit dragged and bubbly. Still learning but doing her best. “‘S you! I d’ew you.”

 

Anti perks up at that and she gives him her paper. There’s a shaky drawing of a stick figure, with a side of a face painted red. Jack’s lips part, slightly worried of what the man will feel, and he watches Anti touch his marred side. Róisín raises her arm in the air and puts her hand there too, patting him. It’s so ridiculously funny and adorable, Jack can’t help but laugh. The artist sighs and asks what she thinks about this. If she thinks that’s bad. Róisín shakes her head, crawling to be on his lap and wrap her arms around his shoulders.

 

“I like it,” she murmurs again. “You p’etty.”

 

Anti lets out a chuckle with a snort. “You think I’m pretty? Do you, piccola?” She nods again and he lets her touch his burned side, cupping her hand. “Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you. I think you’re really pretty too.”

 

Jack’s heart clenches and the freckled man hugs their daughter, exchanging a look with the boy. There are unshed tears in Anti’s green eyes and the Irishman mouths an _I love you_. The ginger-haired man buries his face in the crook of Róisín’s neck, hiding a smile, and Jack tigthens his hold around Abela. The artist lets the brown-haired girl play with his hair and it’ll never fail to amaze the boy how close these two are. Since the first time Anti saw her, there’s been this connection between them and Jack loves that. They spend the rest of their day like that. The four of them, together, and it’s peaceful. They’re also looking forward for everyone to come over tomorrow, on Anti’s birthday. It’ll be the first time they will see Abela. They wanted their first week with her to be private, getting used again with a new child.

 

When Abela falls asleep in his arms, the Irishman goes upstairs and walks into that old bedroom of his. They removed that canopy bed and changed the entire decoration, so it could belong to their daughters. There’s a small bed in the left side of the room with a safe fence that belongs to Róisín, and Abela has her crib on the right. There are so many plushies and toys, a low round table to draw, and the pastel colors are lovely. Jack puts his baby in her crib, tucking her in, and he caresses her light ginger hair. The floor creaks and he turns his face to see Anti by the doorway, Róisín in his arms as well. The freckled man murmurs that she fell asleep when they were reading a book and Jack watches him puts her in bed, placing her bunny next to her. Anti goes to him then, both glancing at Abela for a moment, and he tucks some strands of hair behind his ear.

 

“I’ve been thinking of cutting my hair…” the freckled man whispers.

 

“What?” Jack blurts out, eyebrows going up. “I love your hair. It reaches down to your ass now!”

 

“I know, mio amore,” Anti sighs and they walk out of the room, side by side, closing the door. The light coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows bathes the hallway in this late afternoon and the man’s hair almost looks like gold. “I let it grow so I could hide myself.” He pauses for a second, both leading towards their bedroom. He puts his trembling hands in his pockets, pursing his lips and scowling. “I don’t think I want to do that anymore. I want to cut it. Maybe just above my shoulders. You won’t lose my locks, I promise.”

 

Jack groans but tells him to wash his hair then. He waits for Anti to leave the shower, sighing and finding some scissors. It is a nice thought that the man has and the Irishman sees growth in his soul. It hasn’t always easy, of course. Sometimes they bicker and they get frustrated with one another, especially when Anti still tries harming himself in time to time. But they eventually talk it out, as hard as it feels. Once Anti dries himself, he sits on the edge of the bathtub with a towel wrapped around his waist, and Jack brushes his hair. The man has his back turned to the boy and they’ve done this before. It’s familiar. The Irishman always trims the artist’s hair and remembers him to treat his scars. Anti ties his hair in a low ponytail, down to where he wants it gone, and Jack takes a deep breath before taking the scissors. He cuts it off, a bit lower since the man’s hair will still dry and curl again. The artist looks down at his copper strands falling into the bathtub and the boy trims to give a better shape, above his shoulders. Anti turns around at some point and he runs his hands on Jack’s thighs, caressing him there. A few years ago he would deny these touches, with anxiety crawling under his skin, but now the Irishman welcomes it with an open heart.

 

“Look at me,” Jack says softly once he’s done and the man obeys without a doubt, batting his long eyelashes at him. The brown-haired man stares at those gorgeous misshapen eyes, long scar kissing down to his lips. His hair is slowly curling already and the boy smiles. “You are so beautiful… My grumpy man.”

 

“Mm, your beauty is far beyond words,” Anti hums.

 

The Irishman cups his face, rubbing his thumbs on the man’s cheeks, and he leans down for a kiss. They close their eyes and open their mouths, breathing in. It’s a slow, sweet kiss, that makes their hearts swell. Jack sucks on his bottom lip, sighing. Anti bites lightly with a groan and he asks in italian for the boy to say he loves him. The Irishman caresses his damp hair, listening to his rough voice.

 

“Dimmi che mi ami, Seán... Ti prego.”

 

“Ti amo,” Jack mumbles between their kiss, trying not to laugh over his pronunciation. He’s been learning with his husband for a while now and doing his best. Anti grins, eyes turning into half-moons, and he likes hearing the boy. “Ti amo tanto, amore mio.”

 

The artist pushes the boy closer, bringing him to his lap, and he stands up once Jack wraps his legs around his waist. They don’t stop kissing, pecking their lips and breathing into their mouths, and Anti walks them out of the bathroom. Jack hums, removing that towel from his husband, and he huffs with a smile when they fall in bed. These moments where they find themselves alone turned into small opportunities. It’s been amazing having these kids and they wouldn’t change a thing, but that sort of intimacy has been a little in the background. It makes every touch and sigh so worth it, though. Anti asks if he can have this as an early birthday gift and Jack giggles, taking off his clothes. It’s wonderful to be underneath the freckled man and they move easily together. They don’t rush anything and they barely leave space between one another, wanting to be so close. Anti kisses him with so much passion, devouring his mouth, and Jack moans when their hips jerk forward. They pant in the room, bed sheets shuffling underneath their bodies, and the Irishman arches his back.

 

They seek pleasure in their touches and Anti buries his face in the crook of the boy’s neck. Jack cups the back of his head and they thrust gently, but deep. The freckled man’s back dances with his moves, hips going back and forth, and his rough skin brushes against Jack’s. The Irishman’s closes his hazy eyes, curling his toes at the feeling, and they mewl in the room. He flips them around and he rides Anti with breathless moans. The copper-haired man looks up at him through half-lidded eyes and they entwine their fingers in bed, rings marking their skin. The Irishman’s heart beats for that man and it’s so good to feel him. To be with him. They keep going, stealing kisses, until they find their release. They spasm in bed and shiver, arching their backs. Anti’s hair is a curly mess, cheeks flushed, and Jack wants to keep that gorgeous sight deep in his heart. He bites his bottom lip, holding back a smile, and he asks if the man liked his gift. The artist knits his eyebrows, half chuckling, half grimacing, and his shoulders shake.

 

It’s endearing.

 

* * *

 

 

On July 2nd, Anti completes thirty years old and he makes them breakfast.

 

To say that Jack is surprised to see his husband in the kitchen is an understatement. Róisín is next to the man, on a wooden stool, and she’s piling up a bunch of pancakes. There’s flour on their faces and Jack’s jaw falls open, holding Abela in his arms. The Irishman asks what is happening and Anti turns to him, placing the boy’s favorite mug that says _Totally The Best Dad Ever_ on the counter. The freckled man is even wearing a fucking apron. God, he looks hot in an apron. Jack shakes his head, looking at the stove and seeing a frying pan. Anti swallows and mumbles something about him practicing for a while but just now that he managed to do something properly. The brown-haired man wasn’t expecting to cry so early in the morning and the artist’s face falls for a moment, saying he didn’t mean to do that. Jack pulls him for a kiss and he whispers that he’s proud. Anti huffs, a bit uncomfortable but doing what he can. He says Róisín was his moral support and she’s a great helper. The Irishman snorts and he can’t believe in this. He even made scrambled eggs and coffee. His tea. God, his heart can’t take it. This silly man.

 

The artist shouldn’t be doing anything on his birthday but, when he says he wanted to make something for his family, Jack’s heart does something funny. Anti feeds Abela while they eat then, and Róisín sits on her high chair between them. The Irishman compliments Anti’s cooking and the man shrugs, hiding a blush behind his yellow mug. It may seem like something small, but it already shows so much progress in their life. The freckled man is really trying and Jack really likes how his hair turned out. It curls beautifully down to his chin. He’ll miss Anti’s long ponytail, even though he can still make a bun with it. The Irishman understands how important this was for him, though, and he’s glad that the man wanted to change. Start over. Jack can’t wait for everyone to come in the afternoon and he’ll make sure to bake peach pie for Anti. He also bought a banner that says _Happy Birthday_ and Andreas said he’ll bring the video game _Wheel of Fortune_ for some laughs.

 

When it’s time to get ready for their guests, Anti dresses up in a yellow shirt and long, black skirt. Jack wears black jeans and a button up shirt with short sleeves. It has a floral pocket on the left and he tucks it in before ruffling his hair. Róisín and Abela are matching, one with a red dress and the other with a onesie that says _Thing 1_ and _Thing 2._ Tucker and Ethan are the first to arrive and they happily hug one another. Everyone starts showing up and congratulating not only Anti, but the both of them for having Abela. There’s a warm feeling in Jack’s chest and he’s proud to show her to his friends, watching their faces light up and smile down at her. The mansion is full of love, the more they come. Robin arrives with his boyfriends and Andreas’ jaw falls when noticing Anti’s hair. They all seem taken aback by it, not expecting the man to cut it that short, and the artist rubs the back of his neck. They all think he looks good, though, but Andreas mourns that loss dramatically. Róisín gets excited when seeing everyone and she runs around in circles a couple of times before going towards the younger brother.

 

“Uncle Dee! Uncle Dee!” she shouts with a smile and Andreas huffs when picking her up, ruffling her hair. “Can we p’ay? I wanna p’ay!”

 

“Oh, my little detective! Ready for work already?! I’ve heard that there’s been another murderer!”

 

Róisín bounces on the man’s arms. “A mu’der! Oh, no!”

 

Jack sighs, shaking his head, but waves a them. “Off you go. Solve your crimes. Just be careful, alright?”

 

Andreas salutes him, promising that they won’t run around too much, and they walk away between giggles. Anti’s talking with Ethan and Tyler, holding Abela now, and he seems unphased by the fact their daughter tried to say _murderer._ Robin comes to sit next to him and Jack grins at the ring on his best friend’s hand. The Swedish man rolls his eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully, and the boy snorts. It was about time that these three got engaged. Jack and Anti were even discussing who was gonna ask first, but turns out Robin beat Andreas. They can see the younger brother in the garden with Róisín, both acting suspicious and running. He hums, happy with where he is, and his friend grabs his cup of water before throwing an arm over the boy’s shoulders. Jack whispers that Andreas is great with kids and asks if they ever think of having one too, one day. Robin almost chokes on his water, putting it down, and he coughs.

 

“He gave Róisín a pocket knife on her one year anniversary,” he says and Jack nods, pointing a finger in the air and raising his eyebrows.

 

“Fair point. Anti liked it way too much and he thought it was a great idea, so I think it was him that suggested that in the first place,” the boy sighs, crossing his legs. “I hid it somewhere with the rest.”

 

Robin snickers and they continue to chat in the living room, having some snacks and sipping from their drinks. Jack makes sure to talk to Tyler and thank the man’s mother for sending them the best banana bread they ever had. He’ll definitely want to take a look in her recipe and Tyler chuckles, saying he’ll see about that. Tucker, Ethan and Justin play _Wheel of Fortune_ first and everyone starts discussing about what the names could be. Anti takes a break to change Abela and Jack gives him her bottle. Andreas shows up with Róisín, claiming that they solved the mystery, and she’s wearing a flower crown on her head. The younger brother makes sure to tease Anti about getting old, turning thirty, and Jack rolls his eyes. The freckled man eats his peach pie without a care, happy in his corner, and the Irishman brings their cake while everyone sings _Happy Birthday_. The boy places it over the coffee table and they clap along with the song. The tips of Anti’s ears turn bright red and he tucks some of his hair back, rocking Abela gently. Jack kisses his husband’s cheek when it ends and that makes the artist smile.

 

Even thought Anti didn’t ask for anything, Andreas gives him an _UFO_ pin and the freckled man really likes it. They share stories of when they were kids and how fascinated Anti was with that. They eat cake and play video games, until night falls. There are beer bottles in the living room and empty plates. Jack tries stopping Ethan again from helping him clean up but the boy insists. Róisín falls asleep on his lap at some point and they quietly start saying goodbye when it gets late. Anti hugs his brother and they exchange a secret handshake before going towards the door. Robin kisses Jack’s forehead and Ethan congratulates them again for the new baby. The Irishman smiles, looking at Abela sleeping in her baby swing, and Anti comes back when they are all gone. Jack’s heart skips a beat, remembering something, and he bites his bottom lip. The freckled man sits next to him, caressing Róisín’s hair, and he asks what’s wrong.

 

“I have something for you too,” Jack says. “Gimme a second.”

 

He slowly gets up from the couch, carefully not to wake up his kid, and he quickly makes his way up to their bedroom. The Irishman takes a deep breath, picking up a box from the closet and taking out his gift from it. He really hopes Anti likes this. He comes back to the couch, adjusting his daughter again on his lap, and he gives the man what’s in his hands. The freckled man grabs a rectangular book, of a dark brown cover, and he brushes his fingers there before opening it with a frown. The artist’s lips part when realizing it’s a family photo album, with all the pictures they’ve taken so far. Their honeymoon. The beach. Him, hugging Róisín as a baby in bed. Jack cooking in the kitchen. All their memories. The Irishman whispers Tucker helped him come up with that and there’s space for new pictures. Jack wants one with all the four of them and Anti hums at that, pleased.

 

“There’s something else, though,” the boy continues with a whisper, heart beating faster. “Go to the last page.”

 

Anti narrows his eyes but he does just that, and Jack watches his expression change. There’s a white envelope in the end of the album and the boy is too aware of the sound of it being open. The artist’s frown disappears in a heartbeat, eyes scanning what’s written in the paper, and Jack does his best not to jiggle his leg. The Irishman snorts when Anti looks at him back and forth, and the man’s eyes fill with tears. The freckled man’s face scrunches up and a whimper leaves his lips. Jack takes a look on the adoption papers and his voice is strained when saying that there’s one girl left to have the man’s last name. He wants Anti to be Róisín’s legal father too and tears stream down the artist’s face. The boy never saw the freckled man cry like that and he tries holding back a sob, but fails. Jack’s heart clenches and he pulls his husband for a hug, rubbing his back. They both cry in their arms and Róisín wakes up with a frown, tugging on his shirt. Anti apologizes with a broken voice and he picks her up, kissing her cheek over and over. When she asks why they’re crying, they let out a breathless laugh and the ginger-haired man promises her that is of happiness. They lean in for a chaste kiss and Jack smiles with teary eyes.

 

It’s a lovely way to end their night.

 

* * *

 

 

A few days pass and Jack’s sitting on the ground, pulling on grass and fidgeting with his fingers. The boy’s wearing a white, thin sweater and his necklace brushes against his chest whenever he moves. He stares at a familiar gravestone in front of him and there are new flowers leaning against it. Anti has been making him company every time Jack wants to visit his sister, but this time he wanted to be alone. The Irishman takes a deep breath and there are birds chirping in the morning. It’s a beautiful day. A blue sky with no clouds. Jack looks up and closes his eyes, listening to leaves dancing with the wind. His hair sways with that light breeze and there’s silence. It’s so peaceful. He turns his face back at the grave, crossing his legs and resting a cheek against a hand. He never thought that he would be one to talk in a cemetery, to a lost loved one, and yet there he is. Jack’s heart is at ease, though, and he finally opens his mouth to speak.

 

“Ró is gonna be three next week,” he murmurs, blinking softly. “I see you in her eyes every day. She’s a good girl. I haven’t brought her here yet but… I promise I will when she’s a bit older. I don’t want to forget you and I’ll make sure they know about you.”

 

He talks about Róisín for a long time, wanting his sister to know how she’s doing, and he plays with the ring around his finger. He mentions the adoption and how he really wants Anti to be part of their family, completely. It’ll take some time but they’ll go through it. Jack also talks about Abela and they’re so happy to have a second child. He never thought he would have a family like that. The artist really changed his whole life and he’s so grateful that they met. He doesn’t even want to think of what would’ve happened if he didn’t. Jack sighs, looking down at the grass and messing with it, gathering his thoughts. The boy mentions Robin. Andreas. Everyone. Megan would’ve liked them and, despite how furious she would’ve been with Anti, Jack’s sure that they’d get along so well. It puts a smile on his face.

 

“He’s very stubborn sometimes,” he continues. “I almost kicked him out of the house one day, did you know that?” Jack snorts, remembering a silly fight from last year. He caught Anti drinking once more, too anxious over being a father when they were still thinking about having Abela. They said awful things to each other, losing their patience, and it’s something he really doesn’t want to do it again. It hurts them, but they heal together. He purses his lips, humming. “We’ve come a long way, though. I’m sure we’ll be fine. We always do.”

 

Jack’s still not working, taking care of their kids in the house with Anti. The artist will soon work on book illustrations, along with his usual galleries, but he’s always helping the boy. The brown-haired man says that he also met a new person when buying some pastries. The owner of a bakery was very kind to him and they discussed baked goods for a long time. His name was Arin, with a lovely wife named Suzy, and Jack will see if he can find a job there. Not yet, though. Maybe once Abela is older too. He’s not sure, but it is a nice thought to have. Anti already supports him, if that what he wants, and the boy is more confident. It would be good to leave the house more often and his husband could hang out with their kids. Who knows. The important thing is that the possibility is there and it’s comforting to know that he has a loving husband that won’t stop him to do anything.

 

There’s a pang in his heart when whispering that he misses his sister and his wistful smile quivers, holding back tears. Jack swallows hard and he takes out something from his back pocket, unfolding it to reveal a picture of his two children. Róisín is grinning at the camera, leaning closer to Abela who’s just unaware of how much they love her already. She has green eyes, like her father. Jack wonders if she’ll have freckles too. He clears his throat and he moves to place the picture between the grave and flowers, so the wind won’t blow it away. The Irishman brushes his hand on the gravestone, nodding to himself, and he whispers a goodbye for now before getting up. He walks in slow, but firm steps, putting his hands in his pockets. Jack finds that gate and it creaks when he pushes it open. He goes towards their car, taking his keys and getting inside with a huff. They decided to give Tyler some vacation, always being so patient and kind with them, so it’s just him. Jack turns on the ignition and he drives back to the mansion. The city is a blur around him and he calms down his heart by the time he gets there.

 

“I’m home!” he says when closing the door, placing the car keys on a side table.

 

There’s no immediate answer, so he walks into the living room. He’s ready to speak again but the sight before him stops him in his tracks. Anti’s sleeping on the couch with Róisín, both hugging one another, and the man’s head is resting on Abela’s bean bag. They are all fast asleep and there are toys scattered around the place. Drawings on the coffee table. Anti’s mouth is ajar, with messy strands of copper hair, and he snores lightly. Jack sits down on the floor, facing his family, and he pulls his legs up to hold them. There’s a stupid grin on his face and his eyes turn into half-moons, adoring to see these three together. He stares at the man’s burned side, his scars and his beautiful freckles. It’s been a crazy journey but he’s content where he is now. Even though there are thorns in roses, their life is immensely better and the brown-haired man wants to keep growing with Anti. With his children. Jack draws in air, relaxing, and he thinks about all what they’ve been through. Every day is so special and he was so scared before. Afraid of the future. But now, he can count on Anti and his friends for everything. His heart is full, warm with so much love.

 

Jack’s not alone in this.

 

Not anymore.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! It’s over! My first fic to break over 100k!! This is nearly 200 pages on my doc, fuck. I know there’s always room for improvement but I’m really content with this story. It was definitely a learning experience and my first time trying slow burn (hah). I love these two so much and I was so excited to introduce Abela to everyone! I’m so happy you guys seem to have enjoyed this journey with me! Thank you so much for your feedback and support, it truly means a lot to me! Special thanks to [Plutonic_5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutonic_5/pseuds/Plutonic_5) and [trashcansasha](https://trashcansasha.tumblr.com) for lending me Andreas and Bunbun! I really want to say that I’d be nothing without [Lace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemaze/pseuds/lacemaze) too. She’s the one behind some really sweet and funny scenes here, and I loved discussing ideas with her. She’s been so supportive and I love her so much. It’s been a bit exhausting in some moments and I was worried people weren’t liking it anymore, but she pushed me to continue and do my best. I, as always, can’t wait to start other stories too. I have a list, don’t worry hahaha. So we’ll all see each other soon! Thank you for being here! Until next time! :)
> 
> \- [End credits song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UoP9ABJXGE) (thanks to galaxykitty42 ;u;)  
> \- [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/marvelsoo/playlist/1VWnQGrCYv7xC6DxJkUJxh?si=5fXsvwiGT8OYLHn0JyUaeQ)  
> \- [Storyboard](https://pinterest.com/sparklepines/choking-on-flames/)  
> \- [My tumblr](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [If you like what I do, feel free to show some support!](https://ko-fi.com/sparklepines)  
> 


End file.
